


Between Now and Nether

by artistic-writer (Itrustyoutokillme)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, CS AU, F/M, cs fanfic, cs halloweek, ghost!killian, so much pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-01-27 12:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 48,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12582144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itrustyoutokillme/pseuds/artistic-writer
Summary: On their way to a Nolan Charity Gala, tragedy befalls Emma and Killian who is given just seven days to set things right.  Can he make Emma believe and escape the Nether before he is lost forever?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please don’t be put off by what happens in this chapter! I PROMISE it gets better! This was written for CS Halloweek : Spirits & Traditions.
> 
> Huge thanks to @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @rouhn and @wordsmith-storyweaver for your advice and suggestions. This fic would just be so much worse without you guys! <3
> 
> Also, I made the most obscure fanart for this fic lol It is basically an excuse to show Killian getting dresed up as I didn’t want to give anything away!

 

“Swan, are you ready yet?” Killian huffed, straightening out the collar of his crisp, white shirt and fiddling with the cufflinks at his wrists.

“Almost!” Emma called from the bathroom, her voice a little shaky, her nervousness hidden by a tiny cough at the end of her words.

“We have to go!” Killian called back, tugging his bowtie slightly to the left a bit with a frown. These damn things were sent to test him, he was sure of it. He wasn’t sure how many of David and Mary Margaret’s Charity Gala’s they had attended, but one thing he could always count on was they would be late because of the time it took his lovely girlfriend to prepare.

There was no need for all of her makeup, he had told her many times before because she was beautiful just the way she was. A natural light curl to her blonde, shoulder length hair and the smooth texture of her skin was stunning, and he never fathomed why she would ever want to cover it. Her radiant smile was amazing and never needed lipstick of any sort to accent its perfection, but time and time again, Emma brushed off his compliments and insisted she could never attend one of her brother’s gala’s in ‘sweatpants and one of his t-shirts’.

Killian wouldn’t mind. She looked beautiful in everything she wore, especially his clothes.

Killian tugged at the elasticated straps holding up his suit pants, arranging them more comfortably. He eyed his reflection as he threw his arms into his jacket sleeves, tugging at the cuffs of his shirt that poked out of the ends. Smoothing his hands over the fine, Italian suit he paused when his hand bumped into the lump in his inner pocket. Invisible from the outside, Killian had stashed the velveteen box away from Emma for nearly a month, plotting with his soon to be brother in law about how to finally ask Emma to marry him.

Tonight was the night. In a room full of people, fuelled by the buzz of fine wine and live music all around them, Killian would drop down to one knee and ask her. He had never been terrified of anything more in his entire life.

  
Emma sat paralyzed on the toilet seat, her full-length gown pooling around her feet. The chiffon material rustled a little as she moved her feet, her heels catching on the tiled floor of their bathroom when she moved to stand and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was pale, paler than usual, and the ruby red lipstick drew her attention more than it should have.

She sucked in a huge breath and blew it out immediately, grabbing the edges of the vanity with quaking hands. Her reflection remained unchanged, still in shock at what laid before her in the bottom of the sink. The rounded plastic stick sat motionless in the sink where she had tossed it, unable to process what it was telling her. Two blue lines. Positive.

Emma Swan was pregnant.

She was happy. Although it was happening all too quickly in her life for her liking, they had talked about having children at some length, just not yet. Killian wanted children, ‘the more the merrier’ he would say, but Emma doubted her ability. She knew that she could look after children. Her brother David and his wife Mary Margaret had a son, Neal, and she always managed to make him smile and laugh but having one of your own was entirely different.

And terrifying.

She wasn’t sure how far along she was, but she had a good idea. Emma’s regime of birth control had only been interrupted once recently, six weeks ago when she was taken ill unexpectedly the day after a fantastic night of amorous love making. Clearly the pill she had taken less than an hour before her stomach evicted its contents of her breakfast had not worked. The worrisome voice of Emma’s mother reciting ‘it only takes one time’ sang in her ears and she rolled her eyes the exact same way she had at sixteen.

“Swan!” Killian called again and she snapped her head towards his voice as it echoed from their bedroom. Emma snatched the pregnancy test from the sink and wrapped it in some tissue paper, tossing it in the small chrome bin beside the toilet.

“Just coming!” She chirped fakely, brushing her perfectly styled hair from her face with manicured fingers and smiling at her reflection one more time.

“Are you alright, love?” Killian asked softly, wrapping his knuckles to the bathroom door lightly.

Emma reached for the handle and pulled the door open, the light from the bathroom blinding behind her as he took in her figure. She was a vision, heaven sent and angelic with the white hue radiating behind her. The gown she was wearing flowed all the way to the floor, tiny blue sequins sewn over the almost see through outer layer of white chiffon. It was strapless, the whole ensemble held up by a fitted blue bustier that accented her bosom and let her golden tresses fall gently over the soft skin of her shoulders.

Killian sucked in a breath. “Wow, Swan…” he breathed, mouth hanging agape and his eyes roaming over her hungrily. Emma had told him she had bought a new gown for this gala, and he had already seen it on its hanger, but somehow the whole thing was transformed once she was wearing it. “You look…”

“Is it okay?” Emma fussed, looking down her own body and smoothing her hands over her hips uncomfortably.

Killian smiled at her sweetly and licked his lips, lost for words to describe how she looked. “How do I describe perfection?” He stepped towards her and rested his hands on her hips, pulling her to him.

“Oh stop,” Emma rolled her eyes but let him pull her towards him.

“I mean it, darling,” Killian flicked his eyes over her one last time before meeting the green of her hues once more. “You are a vision.”

“Well, you don’t look so bad yourself,” Emma grinned, running her hands over the satin lapels of his suit jacket and leaning her body into his. Killian’s hands slipped around her body, his fingertips dancing over the bare skin of her back exposed by the cut of her gown.

Killian nudged his head sideways. “I try,” he teased, his lips curling into a grin when Emma cupped his face lovingly and he leaned forward even more. Their lips met with a tenderness that made Emma’s stomach fall away from her, the plush skin of his mouth setting her skin on fire. Emma curled her fingers through his scruff, pulling his face closer to hers and humming contently before reluctantly breaking the kiss.

“We are going to be late,” she said a little breathlessly, her thumb stroking over the scar on his cheek.

“We are always late,” Killian laughed, stepping away from her and offering her his arm. “Shall we?”

“Wait, Killian,” Emma stopped him with a small tug on his arm. She had to tell him that she was pregnant before they entered a room full of alcohol and company that she would have to try and avoid all evening. “There is something I have to tell you.”

Killian gave her a sweet smile that made her heart skip a beat, the effect he had on her still present even after a three year relationship. “I’m sure whatever it is can wait until we are in the taxi,” he nodded. “David will murder us if we miss his opening speech again.”

Emma’s lips twitched into a small smile. He was right. The taxi was outside already waiting and they had a twenty minute journey to the gala anyway. “You’re right,” Emma agreed with a smile, her fingers curling into the crook of Killian’s arm as they made their way down the stairs. “Let’s go.”

As soon as Killian opened their front door, Emma felt a chill. It wasn’t because of the weather, unusually mild for October, but a more sinister cold that rolled over her body with the slight movement of the breeze. Her cop instincts kicked in and she scanned the area, eyes narrowing on a hooded figure walking across the street. The person had their hands buried deep in their pockets and their head hung low, seemingly ignoring them both as they descended the white steps of their house and stepped onto the pavement.

Killian too was oblivious, turning to give her a smile as he reached the pavement first, offering her his hand as she wobbled slightly in her heels. Taking her eyes from the figure for a second, Emma smiled back at him, the whole world switching to slow motion as the crack of a gunshot rang out in the night and the spray of blood splattered her in the face. Killian’s smile faded instantly, his brow pulling together with pained confusion, his hand slipping from hers and clutching his abdomen, his fingers instantly turning red under the flow of blood.

Emma screamed, her shriek piercing the darkness and alerting the cab driver who jumped from his seat and shouted after the masked assailant who took off down the block. His voice was muffled, Emma’s ears ringing from the gunshot, the dull thud of Killian’s body hitting the ground in a limp mess all she heard. Emma dropped to her knees and pressed her hands over his wound, the bullet having entered his back and exited his front, leaving a gaping wound through his abdomen. The edges of his previously perfect suit were singed black, slightly melted with the heat of the projectile, and Emma felt the sting of tears prick at her eyes.

“Killian!” She cried, pressing hard to try and stem the flow of blood.

“Bloody hell,” Killian gasped out through clenched teeth, hands scrambling to cover Emma’s as he fell onto his back, his fingers slipping through his own blood.

“Call an ambulance!” Emma shouted to the cab driver who had run to their side and stopped dead, his face losing all of its colour through shock. “Tell them a cop has been shot!”

“Emma…” Killian coughed, his words watery and crackly. Emma knew he had been shot through the lung and it was filling with blood, his own body drowning itself slowly.

“Shhh, don’t talk,” Emma quickly ripped the skirt of her dress and stuff the material into his wound. Killian grunted, twisting his body sideways as she tried to slow his blood loss in vain. There was so much blood, the pounding of Killian's heart pumping more and more of the claret over her hands as she fought to keep it inside his body.

“Emma…” He repeated, his arm lifting slowly to grab at hers.

“Shut up, Killy!” Emma shook, her emotions getting the best of her as his pet name slipped from her lips. “You’re going to be okay,” she chanted, more to herself than anything else as she watched the blood pour from his gunshot wound despite her efforts. The pool of blood surrounding him grew larger and the edges of her gown began to soak up the crimson colour.

Killian coughed again, blood dribbling from his mouth and down his chin. Emma looked up at him instantly, watching the flare in his eyes fade as his they flickered closed. Adrenaline coursed through her body and Emma let out a pained cry of frustration, her tough cop exterior unable to hide the real panic she was feeling.

“No! Killian! Don’t go to sleep!” Emma screamed at him, shuffling her body weight closer to him and slapping his face with a blood soaked hand. Killian’s head rolled sideways limply, and his eyes peeled open again and looked directly at her with a calm expression that made Emma shiver.

Killian smiled. It was weak, his face smeared with his own blood that had begun to dry in his beard. He lifted his arm and clutched her hand to his face, a shallow breathed sob escaping from his mouth. Emma had never seen Killian cry before and it was the most innocent, childlike whimper she had ever heard, full of fear and sorrow. “It’s okay,” he whispered, his breath hitching.

Emma shook her head. “No,” Emma sniffed, shaking her head angrily. “Don’t you dare say goodbye,” She cried, her entire body shaking with her own sobs.

“I love you, Emma,” Killian choked out, tears rolling down his cheeks and his fingers digging into her palm. “Never forget that.”

“Killy, no, no, no!” Emma chanted as his hand went limp, the light behind his eyes finally going dark and his last breath leaving his body on a heavy sigh. Killian’s hand slipped from her, landing with a slap on the pavement next to his head, his cold, dead eyes staring directly up at her, lifeless and fixed. “Dammit, Killian!” Emma cried harder, wrenching her hand from the hole in his stomach and clasping it with the other one over his heart.

Emma pushed hard against the springy resistance of his ribcage, counting dumbly in her head to five before she leaned forward and pressed her quivering lips to his and breathed into his mouth. She felt Killian’s chest expand but too easily deflate as soon as it had. “Come on!” Emma sobbed, continuing CPR aggressively as Killian’s limp body rolled around in the pool of blood covering the pavement outside of their house.

Emma was exhausted by the time the medics arrived. She had no idea how long she had been working on her partner in life and work before they arrived but her arms had gone numb a long time before they had taken over, bundling her away from his lifeless body as she detested. Blood had soaked into her dress and it felt heavier than before, dragging along the concrete as a fellow officer led her to the back of a second ambulance. Emma could only stare at the scene before her through watery eyes, the blue lights flooding the entire neighborhood from every emergency vehicle that arrived stinging her eyes each time she blinked.

This wasn’t supposed to be how this evening was going to go. Emma was going to sit in the cab next to the love of her life, her fellow officer, and partner, and tell him that they had made a baby. A life. They were to be parents, and she couldn’t be happier. Instead, the life growing inside of her would now never know the man that had created it because of a split second in time that had destroyed everything.

As a thin, plastic sheet was draped over Killian’s body, the questions from the officer beside her fell on deaf ears and Emma flattened her palm over her stomach and cried.


	2. Chapter 2

 

The last thing Killian remembered before he was blinded by a white light was the warmth enveloping his body. He had felt so cold, shivering on the pavement outside of his house as his life force left him, Emma’s wails filling his ears. And then nothing. Silence. Not even the tinnitus ringing in his ears. Just nothing.

The pain was gone now too and Killian looked around himself with a frown. It was suddenly easier to breathe and his suit was pristine once more, the exit wound in his abdomen also mysteriously gone when he ran his hands over the cumberband of his tuxedo. Killian patted his suit jacket quickly realising that the velveteen box was missing and he looked around him only to discover that he could see nothing but white. And only that. He couldn’t even see his feet through the fog surrounding him and he began to panic a little.

“Emma?” He called out softly when he heard footsteps approaching him. A figure cut through the mist in front of him and Killian frowned when the shadow of a man appeared before him.

“Not quite, brother,” A voice called out, breaking the silence around them.

Killian’s eyes went wide with confusion. “Liam?” he croaked, his voice breaking with a mixture of joy and realisation. Liam was dead and the only way he would be here with him is if he was dead too. “Am I…?”

Liam stood before him with a kind, serene smile on his face. His hands were behind his back, his fingers tied together to hold them there and he blinked slowly. Liam was wearing the same clothes he was the day he had died, the irony of his brother also being gunned down not lost on Killian. “Of sorts,” he said softly.

Killian gulped hard and rubbed his forehead with his fingers. “And Emma?”

Liam moved his arms until they were in front on him, his fingertips pressed together. “She is okay,” he said slowly.

A sob of relief escaped Killian’s lips and he quickly covered his mouth to muffle his cry. Realisation was a harsh mistress and she had just hit him with a ton of very hard, very heavy bricks. If it was possible for his chest to hurt, Killian was sure his heart would have been breaking in two. “Will she be okay?” Killian lifted his watery eyes to look at his brother once more, the light behind Liam somewhat brighter than before.

“She will,” he nodded once and smiled again. “I am here to help you transition,” Liam said softly, holding out his hand to Killian, the white ambient light around him bathing Killian in a warmth he had never felt before.

Killian shook his head and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Where am I?” he gulped. “How do I get back?”

“Killian, brother, this is the Nether,” Liam soothed, his words flowing over Killian’s anxiety and washing it away instantly. Killian calmed his breathing and straightening his body, taking in his brother’s appearance with more scrutiny.

“Are you an Angel?” Killian asked confused.

“Of sorts,” Liam smiled again and Killian scoffed with a little frustration.

“How cryptic of you, brother.”

“I have been sent to guide you,” Liam retracted his hand once more and tucked both behind his back again.

“To where?” Killian swallowed hard.

“That depends on where you want to go,” Liam said and Killian could swear his voice was much more calming than it had ever been.

“I want to go home,” Kilian’s voice cracked slightly. “I want to go back to Emma.”

Liam bowed his head, eyes pinched closed and stood in silence. Killian frowned, watching his brother intently, the only noise between them the sound of his own ragged breathing. Finally, before he had time to prompt him, Liam lifted his gaze back to Killian and the warm smile across his features calmed him instantly.

“You have been granted one chance,” Liam said stoically, his voice firm but never filled with an ounce of anger or force. “You may return, and if you can convince Emma you are still alive, you can stay.”

“By who? Who has the power to do this?” Killian demanded.

“The details are not important, brother. Except one.”

Killian narrowed his eyes at the being in front of him in the guise of his brother. It looked like Liam, had the same face as his brother, even the same stupidly curly hair that Killian was glad he had never inherited, but it wasn’t Liam. Killian could tell.

“Who are you?” He asked timidly.

“I am whoever people need me to be at this time.”

“Are you God?” Killian mumbled, almost afraid to know the answer. Ethereal Liam cracked another wide smile and shook his head.

“Then who are you?” Killian asked more confidently, shifted his weight from side to side.

“Most people do not normally ask so many questions,” Liam said with a light chuckle.

“I am not most people,” Killian sighed with his lack of answers.

“This is true. Which is why you are being offered this second chance, Killian.”

“Second chance? To convince Emma I am alive, so I can return to her?” The eagerness in Killian’s voice was too evident.

Liam inhaled hard but Killian suspected he had no actual need for breath. “You have done real good in the world, Killian. It has not gone unnoticed. You can return to Emma, and you will both live out the rest of your lives happily if you can…”

“...If I can show her I am alive,” Killian interrupted and Liam nodded. “So, am I alive?”

“Of sorts,” Liam said again and Killian scoffed. Even if this being wasn’t his brother he was a pain in the arse just like him. “The Nether is a place below the world of man, but neither Heaven or Hell,” Liam said finally. “It is a place very few people experience before they rise or fall.”

“You mean…” Killian gulped, stepping towards the figure before him with real concern in his eyes.

“Killian, if you fail, you will be judged accordingly.”

“If I fail?” Killian frowned, shaking his head a little.

“There are limitations. Not everyone offered a second chance will make it in time.”

“In time?” Killian pleaded, stepping towards Liam’s figure and instantly feeling the warmth from his glowing body.

Liam nodded slowly, a calming smile spreading over his features once more. “Brother, you have seven days to convince Emma, and only Emma, that you are alive.”

“So, I am not dead yet?” Killian asked hopefully.

“In body, you are dead,” Liam sighed. “In spirit, you are here.”

“What does that mean?” Killian spat, his patience for riddles waning. “Tell me how I get home!” He growled.

“That, dear brother, is something you must figure out yourself,” Liam smiled and with a snap of his white, glowing fingers, Killian’s world went black.

 

When he peeled his eyes open again, Killian was standing outside of their house, the blood stain on the pavement still clearly visible at his feet, even though attempts had clearly been made to try and wash it away. Killian’s suit was gone, replaced with his casual clothes he would wear in his downtime, jeans and a blue t-shirt that hugged his body. Despite the fact it was October and most people were wearing some sort of jacket, Killian wasn’t cold in the slightest.

He looked around quickly, the street they lived on quite this time of day. Emma’s car was in the driveway, his parked in front of it. As if he had thought it, David’s car pulled into the space behind them and the engine rattled to a stop, ceasing as soon as Dave put the car in park. Emma’s older brother was the kindest soul he had ever known, and he was glad he was here. He would know what to do.

David headed around his car, striding for the steps to the house as Killian made his way towards him. He looked sad, his head turning away from the patch of crimson on the pavement in disgust. Killian thought he looked more tired than usual, even with a young child at home, Dave looked like he had the weight of the world coming down on top of him. His eyes were red, slightly puffy and if Killian didn’t know better, he would say Dave had been crying.

“Dave, mate, so glad you are here…” Killian began almost apologetically, but his words were cut off instantly when David Nolan walked right through him. Literally. He’d sidestepped the blood on the concrete and breezed through Killian’s body, sending an unearthly quaking through his being that had him frozen in place for a second and then determinedly climbed the steps and letting himself into the house without saying a word.

Killian jumped back, eyes wide with shock and disbelief at what had just transpired. His soon to be brother in law, future best man, and current best friend had not seen or heard him, instead walking right into him and out the other side like he wasn’t even there. Because he wasn’t, and Killian growled to himself at his own stupidity.

“Oh bloody hell,” he rolled his eyes and ascended the stairs after David, walking straight through the front door.

Killian heard the sobbing first, followed by the gentle shushing of his best friend. A quick glance around the open plan lounge told him that his funeral had probably already happened, the mantelpiece above their open log fire covered in sympathy cards. Some of them had remained sealed and Killian’s bottom lip quivered at the pain Emma was probably going through because of him.

He should have noticed the gunman. He should have fought harder to stay with her. He should have ignored the light and gentle pull of warmth as he had felt his fingers slip from hers and if nothing else, Emma’s pained screams should have pulled him right back to her. But they hadn’t, and Killian hated whoever was in charge for all of this.

Killian followed the sounds of Emma’s wails, climbing the stairs but not making a single sound, even when he set his foot onto the second to last step of the staircase that always creaked so loudly. Emma was in their bedroom, the door open just a crack after David had gone to his sister’s bedside, his huge warm palm rubbing gently over her shoulders as she cried.

Killian pushed at the door but nothing happened, his hand sliding through the wood. He sighed. He would never get used to this, and with any luck, he wouldn’t need to. Walking the rest of the way through the door, Killian noticed Emma stop her sobbing for just a second, shooting a glance towards the door.

 _“Emma,”_ Killian’s smile was wide and excited and he inhaled hard through his open mouth, his arms widening automatically, ready to receive the shape of her body in his arms. But nothing happened. Emma remained where she was and her wide, expectant eyes dulled once more.

“Are you okay?” David soothed, stilling his hand on her shoulder before pulling the blanket over her legs up higher to make sure she didn’t get cold.

Emma looked back to her brother, her eyes swollen and red from her grief. She had cried for ten days straight, retired to her bedroom and had not come out since. Despite her family’s pleas, she had also neglected to eat a single thing offered to her, instead sustaining herself on sweet teas and the odd half slice of toast. “It’s been ten days,” she sobbed, her words catching in her throat.

_“Ten days? But I…”_

“I’m sorry,” David looked down at his feet. “I know you are not, and that’s okay, but please Emma, you have to eat something.”

Killian moved towards them, another known creaky floorboard staying silent under his feet. _“Emma, I’m here,”_ he breathed her name but no reaction came from the woman he loved.

“Please, Emma,” David begged, leaning forward towards the white bag at his feet. He had bought her something and even though he could not smell it, Killian recognised the plastic blue lid of the tupperware that Mary Margaret always used to share her cooking with them. It looked like soup and Emma grimaced at the pot, her lips curling in disgust.

“You love Mary Margaret’s soup,” David coaxed gently, pulling the lid off and offering her the spoon in his hand.

_“Aye, love, you do…”_

“Not anymore,” Emma said sadly, hugging the pillow next to her tighter and burying her face into the downy softness.

“Emma, please,” David repeated, setting the soup down on the bedside table and replacing the lid. “Killian wouldn’t want this.”

_“Exactly right, mate.”_

“He’s gone, Dave,” Emma snapped, blinking away another tear at his name. “He died, and he left us.”

_“Us? Wait, what?”_

David sighed and licked his lips, swallowing hard. He had dealt with Emma’s grief before, when their parents had died, but this was different. Somehow, fuelled by her hormones, she was entering so many stages of grief he was having a hard time keeping up. One day she was happier, and then the next day she would be a crumbling mess once more. She was all over the place, emotionally wrecked from losing the one thing in her life that she held most dear.

Emma’s sobs wracked her body as a new wave of tears began to flow from her eyelids. “I didn’t have time to tell him,” she was back to being distraught, her fleeting fit of anger having passed quicker than a nanosecond. “Now he will never know.”

 _“Know what? I’m here, Emma, tell me now.”_ Killian moved around the bed quicker than he could ever have in solid form, pressing his knee into the mattress behind her and settling himself behind her. The bed didn’t move, the comforter didn’t ripple and Emma made no attempt to nudge herself back into him like she always did.

“I know,” David soothed, patting her leg with a heavy sigh.

“I miss him,” Emma bawled, her fingers gripping harder at the pillow that had become a substitute for Killian over the last week.

 _“I miss you too, Emma. So much.”_ Killian’s voice cracked a little and he tried to bury his face into the crook of her neck. He wrapped a strong arm around Emma and brushed his ghostly thumb over the skin of her wrist as she held the pillow tight.

“I know,” David said again, his heart splitting for his sister.

“I can’t do this alone,” Emma cried, her entire body shaking with each fresh wave of tears. They burned her eyes and soaked the pillow but she didn’t care.

“You’re not alone,” David said softly. “Mary Margaret and I are here for you.”

_“And I am here, love. Whatever it is, you don’t have to face it alone, Emma.”_

“I can’t have a baby on my own, Dave. We were supposed to be a family!”

Killian stopped breathing, his ghostly body only doing so because of muscles memory anyway.

“Oh bloody hell.”


	3. Chapter 3

Day one had been a disaster.  Killian had told himself everything would be okay, even when Dave had walked through him and ignored the odd sensation that had tingled up his spine.  Stubborn man, he would never change.  Probably put it down to the cold outside that day knowing Dave.  Either way, he was going to be no help.

Killian had spent the rest of that day following Emma around the house.  She wasn’t going to leave, she had no work to go to, and the more he had followed her, the more Killian realised how difficult this was going to be.  How do you convince someone you are alive, when you can’t even convince them you are there?

Emma was sitting on the couch, legs tucked up under herself and the blanket they had shared whilst they watched a scary movie less than two weeks ago thrown over her legs.  She held a cup of hot chocolate with one hand, the mug resting on her bent knee, the edges of the ceramic dusted with dried cinnamon.  She idly brushed her thumb up and down the outside of the handle, staring at the flickering of the flames in the open log fire in front of her.

The chocolate had long since gone cold.  Killian had watched her make it, stopping half way through to bury her face in her hands and wail some more when she had realised she was making two cups, one of which had been intended for him.  In an emotional rage, Emma has hurled the cup across the kitchen, ignoring the way it smashed against the refrigerator and huge chunks of porcelain had flown across the floor.  All Killian could do was watch and follow her to the lounge when she had finished screaming into the seemingly empty house.

Between the roaring log fire that Dave had stoked before he left, and the couch where Emma was sitting, they had a coffee table.  It was low and Killian had often perched on the edge when he was talking to his snuggled girlfriend, so without a further thought, he moved into the space and silently floated down onto the surface of the table.

“Emma…” He said softly, the hope in his words making his own heart wrench.  “I wish you could hear me.”

Emma simply stared through him, the hot, fat sting of a new set of tears building in her eyes.  She was exhausted, he could see that, and all that she had left was the gentle rocking of her body as her sobs hitched in her throat.  Her bottom lip quivered and Emma blinked slowly, sending the tear rolling down her cheek and under her chin.

“Oh, love, please don’t cry,” Killian pleaded and shuffled forward on the table.  A magazine he was sitting on shifted a little but Emma did not notice, hastily wiping at her face as she swung her legs over the edge of the couch and placed the cold cup of cocoa on the table beside where he was sitting.  She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and bowed her head in her hands, watching as her tears fell to the floor beneath her.

Killian mirrored her position, his face inches from hers as he watched her cry, helpless to comfort her.  It was torture and if he had not known any better, Killian would have bet all the money he had ever had on the fact he was in Hell.  

“Why?” Emma groaned into her hands before throwing her head back and looking up to the ceiling.  Killian had never known her to be spiritual, but it was clear she had reached the end of her resolve, her anger directing at anything and anyone.  “We were happy!” She screamed, hands clenched on her knees so tightly her knuckles were white.

Killian reached out, smothering her balled fists with his transparent hands, desperately trying to feel anything beneath his fingertips.  He slid forward on the table again and the magazine toppled to the floor between them and landed pages down.  He looked down quickly and then back up, meeting Emma’s gaze and his entire being stiffening.

“Swan?” He breathed hopefully, holding his breath.

It was like she was looking directly at him, her green orbs sparking with a glow he felt like he hadn’t seen in forever.  Her breathing quickened and a tiny muscle in the corner of her mouth twitched, tugging at the edge of a smile that threatened to pull across her face.

“Killian?” Emma sniffed, her watery eyes flicking between his and the magazine on the floor in front of her.  She reached down and picked up the fallen magazine, turning it over in her hands to the open page.  It was an article about life after death, the possibility of accepting that when people died they didn’t simply move on.  Emma’s head snapped up once more and she sucked in a breath.

“YES!” He nodded quickly and inched even closer to her.  His lips were millimeters from hers now and a smile played across his lips.  Killian licked them, preparing to kiss the woman he loved and rid her of all of her sorrow.  “It’s me, Emma, I’m here,” he soothed as he ghosted his fingers over the side of her face.

“Killian?” Emma repeated, her eyes closing and her head involuntarily nudged to the side.  Her heart pounded in her chest and for a second her skin had flushed the way it used to when Killian touched her, only he was nowhere near her.  Her bottom lip began to quiver again and a fresh set of tears erupted from her eyelids as she sank back into the couch cushions, a desperately hopeless cry escaping her lips.

Killian’s smile faded instantly when he realised that Emma couldn’t see him.  There had been no divine intervention and no miracle.  Emma was simply calling out his name in desperation, willing the fallen magazine to somehow be connected to him.  If only he could show her that it was.

Emma hurled the magazine into the fire, embers flying up into the chimney and dancing around the edges of the paper as it ignited instantly.  Killian flinched a little as the paper tore through his form, watching it hit the back of the alight alcove and fall into the fire.  When he looked back to Emma she was on her feet, pacing the lounge with a shaking hand flattened to her forehead.

“Stupid…stupid…” She chanted, resting one hand on her hip as she scooted her slipper clad feet over the floorboards with a scuffing noise.  Killian jumped to his feet, reaching her in seconds and trying to grab her shoulders to slow her movements.

“You think this is funny?” Emma yelled to the ceiling again, her nostrils flaring with her anger.

“Emma, stop,” Killian pleaded, shifting a little when she pushed herself through his body and came out the other side.  “The baby…”

“I needed him!” She shouted, waving her arm.  “And you took him from me!  From us!”

Killian worried his bottom lip between his teeth and spun around, striding behind her and wrapping his arms around her.  The magazine had been an accident, but it meant that he did, in fact, have the power to influence things in the world, even from the Nether.  It seemed that all he needed was a little emotion and some faith.

Emma stopped dead when a chill whipped up her back, tossing her hair aside and stopping her rant instantly.  She felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, standing to attention and stretching their way out of her skin to the point of almost being uncomfortable.  She relaxed a little in his eidolic hold and Killian leaned into her shoulder, pressing his cool lips to her ear.

“I’m right here, love,” he whispered and Emma wrapped her arms around herself, her arms falling into the exact position of his around her body.  Killian felt her calm, the tumult within her evaporating instantly and then, just as quickly as she had begun her tirade, she was gone, slipping from his grasp and disappearing up the stairs once more.  

“I’ll always be right here,” Killian promised, even more determined to make sure he made his deadline and didn’t lose her forever.


	4. Chapter 4

On day two, Kilian decided to step up his game and focus his energy on making Emma see him. Well, not in the sense of actually looking at him, but in the sense of accepting that he was the presence that he knew she could sense around the house all the time. He began first thing in the morning, fiddling with their alarm clock so that it rang out at the same time each morning. Despite never setting it the night before, Emma simply turned it off and frowned at the time; the same one they used to set for work.

And then there was the faucet in the bathroom. It had always been a bit stiff, Emma’s early morning strength next to nothing compared to his meaning he was always having to turn it on for her so she could brush her teeth. Killian had taken to setting off the alarm and then rushing to the bathroom to make sure that the water was already flowing when she stepped through the door.

He had to admit, he was getting the hang of this haunting thing. Except, if he didn’t find a way to help Emma piece all of the occurrences together, he would never get to see her again.

Maybe there was a clue in how he had died. He still didn’t know who had killed him and why, but he was sure as hell going to find out today. Torn between staying with Emma and heading to the precinct to check on his case, Killian’s decision was made for him when Emma’s sister-in-law arrived shortly after ten.

The Nolans were good people, even if Emma had been adopted into their family, and when Dave had married Mary Margaret nobody was surprised. She had the biggest heart in the smallest of packages, her smile lighting up every room she entered. She was patient yet strong willed, and the perfect woman to keep David in check, and the perfect comfort Emma needed right now.

As he left the two women, both clutching a glass of sweet tea between chilled palms, Killian couldn’t help but sweep his hand over Emma’s flat stomach and feel his unbeating heart swell with pride.

  
The police precinct was the same as always. Graham sat at his desk, ever the boy scout, eager to finish his assignment and move onto the next one. Killian hoped he was on his case because next to Emma, Graham was the best cop Killian knew, and with Emma at home, he needed someone he could trust.

Across the room, Leroy was reclined at his desk with his corded phone pressed to his ear, soft grunts and nods of agreement sporadically filling his workspace as he chomped on a donut. The dark brown beard he sported was always dusted with some kind of icing or sugar sprinkle, the slightly curled facial feature catching everything that fell into it. Generally, everyone left him alone, but Emma had always been kind enough to give him a knowing nod and a brush of her chin to indicate his newly acquired attire.

Killian wondered how he was going to survive with Emma absent. Leroy was already the stereotypical cop - short, rotund and balding with a coffee stained shirt and a penchant for sugary treats. Without Emma, he had no chance. And neither did Killian, which is why he had to find out who was on his case and what they knew.

To Killian’s absolute horror, the ‘murder board’ indicated that Leroy was the lead on his case and he laughed out loud. He had the worst luck it seemed.

“Hey, Leroy!” An officer called as he entered the bullpen, walking straight through Killian on his way to the detective’s desk. Killian groaned and rolled his eyes, the sensation of being passed through something he would never get used to.

The officer slapped a brown manila folder down in front of Leroy who lifted his legs from his desk and sat forward, a rainbow of sprinkles falling from his facial hair. “What’s this?” He squinted at the name on the folder. “Who the fuck is Jefferson?”

“ _Yes, who is Jefferson?_ ” Killian moved across the room once more, glad that he had absolutely no sense of smell when he got a look at the state of Leroy’s desk. Things were growing on it.

The officer shrugged and leaned back, one hand resting on his holstered weapon. “Small time drug dealer as far as we can tell. No known connection to Jones at all.”

“He works with Gold,” Graham piped in from across the room and all three heads turned towards the Irishman. Graham hadn’t even lifted his head, insistent on finishing his paperwork to an excellent standard before signing the bottom and placing his pen down on the form. He finally looked up at them and raised a brow. “For Gold, actually.”

Leroy narrowed his eyes and interlaced his fingers, resting them on the curve on his belly that was stretching his shirt fabric to its limit as he leaned back in his chair. “Is that so,” he snapped. “How do you know that, Humbert?”

“ _Yes…_ ” Killian rushed to Graham’s desk, noticing his paperwork was for a measly parking violation. Humbert was better than this. He might be the new guy in the department, but he deserved better than grunt work. “ _...tell me how you know._ ”

“Detective work,” Graham shrugged and let a sly grin slip over his features as he pushed himself to his feet, shuffling his papers into a perfect pile. “You should try it sometime,” he grinned at Leroy.

Killian almost laughed, shooting a glance back over to Leroy who had flushed red with anger. He was a veteran, almost as old as the furniture in the whole building, and the new guy was not only embarrassing him, but he was doing so in a room full of other cops.

“Now listen here, rookie,” Leroy stood, his chair skidding backward and his gut falling down to fill the space around the belt of his pants.

Graham stepped forward around his desk and Killian shot a glance between the two of them. Leroy was always causing a tension in the bullpen but it never came to blows. As big as he thought he was, Leroy was a coward and would never risk a fight. He just had a big mouth and liked to bully the new guys. Killian watched Graham intently and smirked when the younger detective didn’t back down.

“Yeah, Leroy?” He asked, chest puffed out and tongue pressing the back of his teeth. His Irish accent had grown thicker, somewhat Gypsy-like and Killian wondered what kind of history the mild-mannered detective had.

Leroy tugged his belt up and pushed his sleeves further up his arm, striding towards him. Killian forgot himself for a second and stumbled backward, falling straight into Graham but instead of everyone else who he had passed through, he felt himself stop, held in place by something he couldn’t explain as a ripple passed over his skin.

He was instantly invaded by the smell of sweat and cheap cologne, the overtones of coffee hanging thick in the air. It was pungent, and unexpected after not having any sense of smell for a few days, and Killian shook his head to try and dislodge the smell from his nostrils. He grunted in disgust but had no time to really register what was happening before Leroy pounded his flat palms to his chest.

“Oh I stink now too, eh?” Leroy bellowed, puffing out his chest and trying to appear larger than his short stature allowed.

Killian took a trip, catching his suddenly heavier feet on something behind him and falling arse first to the ground. He frowned but had little time to react before the Captain’s voice erupted over everyone else in the room. She emerged from her office, a short round lady who looked sweet and innocent but would strike fear into the hearts of most men.

“Leroy!” She shouted angrily, slamming her hand on the desk beside her. “What the hell do you think you are doing?”

“Ma’am, I was just…” Leroy stammered, backing away from the man on the floor in front of him, confusion plastered all over his face.

“Get back to work!” Captain Lucas screeched, her patience for Leroy clearly waning. “And Humbert!” she shouted again and when Killian looked around, Graham was gone.

“Humbert!” She bellowed louder and Killian felt someone grab at his arm, yanking him to his feet. He looked at the fellow officer with a twisted frown and then back to Captain Lucas as she made her way towards him. Or Graham. Was he Graham? What was going on? “What’s wrong with you? Did you bang your head or something?”

“Uh..no...ma’am,” Killian mumbled, unsure as his words left his mouth in an Irish accent. It surprised him and he looked down at his unfamiliar hands.

“Well, then get back to work. Good call on the Jones case,” she smiled, almost sweetly but even he knew better.

“Thanks, ma’am,” Leroy chimed, returning to his desk to retrieve the folder his lackey officer had planted in front of him earlier. He scooped it up and panted as he ran back to the curly haired woman, handing her the folder like an obedient dog. “Jefferson was the shooter. He works for Gold.”

Captain Lucas took the folder and plucked her glasses from the top of her grey mop, planting them on the tip of her nose and looking over the paperwork within. Leroy bounced beside her like an excited child eager to show teacher his project. “And you found this out all by yourself?” She peered over the top of her narrow glasses at Leroy who nodded instantly.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said proudly with a crooked grin.

“Fantastic,” She said dryly, closing the folder and handing it to Killian who took it with a frown. Leroy opened his mouth to object but she cut him off instantly. “I won’t tolerate a liar or schoolboy antics in my precinct,” she sighed, irritation lacing her words. “Hand everything you have to Humbert. He is the lead now.”

Killian’s lips twitched into a small smile and he clutched the folder possessively. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Leroy would never be able to solve his case. Graham would have more luck and maybe crack it. But what kind of cop would he be if he couldn’t solve his own murder? And he knew just the person to help him.

Plucking Graham’s brown leather jacket from the back of his desk chair, Killian offered Leroy one more smirk as he scrubbed his name from the whiteboard. He pulled the cap from the pen, wrote Graham’s name in the ‘lead’ column and headed out of the precinct and back to his home. Maybe being Graham Humbert could work in his favour. If he couldn’t convince Emma he was there in spirit, maybe he could show her that he was there in body. Even if that body belonged to another man.


	5. Chapter 5

Graham’s body was weirdly toned and smooth. The man didn’t have a single hair on his entire body apart from around his jawline. Killian could feel his every muscle moving against his shirt as he exited the car, thankful that he still retained the memory to be able to drive both Graham’s body and the car he was in control of. Smooth was not something that Killian enjoyed feeling.

Even walking felt different, heavier, like his feet were too small and he had to work twice as hard to get anywhere. His hands were too pristine, palms soft and supple like a woman. Killian wondered if the taunts around the bullpen were warranted. It seemed Graham Humbert hadn’t taken on any task that meant he would get his hands dirty. Until now.

He might very well be planning to ruin the career of a very good, up and coming police officer with what he had planned. Killian was sure his plan would work, and Graham was just a pawn, unwittingly willing to be sacrificed for the greater good. The greater good of Killian’s future with Emma and their baby. It just happened that Graham would be forever known as the cop who tried to woo a grieving woman less than two weeks after her boyfriend’s demise, but Killian was more than okay with that.

“For the greater good,” he whispered to himself, taking the biggest breath he could and tapping on the white front door. It was a good few minutes before he heard the slide of the lock behind the wood, the click of the mechanism and then the familiar way their front door always creaked as it was opened.

Emma was alone again, Mary Margaret no doubt having something else humanitarian on her schedule for the day. She was a good person, too good for this world, often sacrificing her own happiness for that of others.

“Emma,” Killian breathed, his thick Irish accent making her name sound different. He paused, irritated for a second. He had never missed his accent so much, and when Emma looked up at him with her tired eyes, he knew she was just as irritated as he was.

“Humbert,” she greeted him back, stepping back from the door and silently inviting him into their home. Killian followed her, letting the door close softly behind him.

“What’s up?” Emma huffed, turning to face him and crossing her arms.

Killian swallowed hard and stepped towards her, tapping the folder against his fingers. He looked down at it nervously as he approached her, fighting the urge to toss it aside and take her in his arms. He had arms now, actual real, strong, warm arms that he could hold her with and kiss away the tears. But he couldn’t just yet. He had to convince her a bit more first.

“Can I show you a picture?” he said softly, flicking the folder open.

Emma rolled her eyes. “I’ve told everyone I didn’t see anything. I didn’t see anyone,” She scoffed agitated.

“I know, and I am really sorry to come here…”

“Then why have you?” Emma narrowed her eyes, pulling her arms harder against each other. Killian watched her stiffen, her irritation evident in her darkened eyes and tight lipped scowl.

Killian gulped again and without a second thought he reached up and scratched behind Graham’s ear. He shifted his gaze, nervously looking at the floor as he did so, almost tugging on his earlobe and looking back up at her. Emma was watching him with a confused look, almost unable to believe what she was seeing.

“Graham?” She prompted, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“Yes, love?” Killian said without thinking, instantly feeling Graham’s cheeks blush and his eyes widen.

“Are you okay?” Emma asked, her tone softening slightly as she unfolded her arms and stepped towards him. “You sound different.”

Killian let out a burst of laughter. He felt like a teenager taking his date to prom but having to first meet her father. Awkward didn’t begin to describe it. How do you work up to kissing the woman you love when you look like another man? “I feel different,” he said honestly. It wasn’t a lie.

“Tell me about it,” Emma laughed sarcastically. “The last few days have been very strange.”

“Like weird alarms and taps turning themselves on, strange?” Killian prodded, knowing full well no one else knew about his ghostly activities but Emma. Her face paled and she stopped breathing at his words.

“Would you like a drink?” Emma’s voice broke and she walked past him towards the kitchen, her feminine scent of vanilla and sweetness invaded his newly acquired senses. Killian inhaled sharply, savouring the smell of her like it was the last time he would ever have it.

“Do you have coffee?” Killian asked her, knowing that she did and also knowing that she wouldn’t have drunk the stuff. Emma hated it, only tolerating the taste when it was in his kisses.

“I’m sure I have some around here somewhere,” she pulled open cupboard after cupboard looking for Killian’s stash.

“In the fridge,” Killian said quickly, pointing towards the appliance beside her. He laid the folder down on the table and shrugged off Graham’s brown leather jacket, hanging it over one of the chairs tucked under the table.

Emma twisted her features, brows knitting together in a frown as she pulled the silver handle of the refrigerator and let the door swing open. Sure enough, sitting on the top shelf in an airtight container, was Killian’s coffee. Emma felt a shiver run up her spine as she reached for the pot, closing the door and glancing to Graham.

“How did you…?” She asked tentatively.

“It’s the best place to keep it fresh,” Graham smiled weakly, Killian moving the muscles of his face.

Emma turned from him and spooned some of the ground coffee into the awaiting cafetiere, a sudden chill running over her skin. It was something that had been happening for a few days now and was normally accompanied by a tingling sensation against various parts of her body. Her ear. Her cheek. Her lips. “Killian always says that,” she said into the sink as she filled the kettle from the faucet. She placed it on the stove and lit the gas, resting her hands on the edge of the sink and taking a breath.

“Are you alright?” Killian asked her quickly, his familiar words twisted by the Irishman’s accent once more. He stepped towards her, reaching out to brush his fingertips over her elbow.

Emma jumped, spinning to face him. “Killian always said that,” she corrected herself, her voice almost a whisper as she looked up at Graham through her lashes. There was something in Graham’s eyes, something so intimate and recognizable that Emma’s breathing became shallow. The world fell away from her and all she could see was the blue of his gaze, the dark speckles around his pupil shifting as his eyes flicked over hers.

“Love…” Killian said softly, lifting his hand to stroke her cheek, sliding his hand to cup her face and thumbing the skin of her bottom lip tenderly. Emma’s eyes closed and she leaned into his touch, hands coming up to toy with the collar of his shirt.

“Killian,” she breathed, eyes remaining closed.

“Aye, Swan, I’m here,” Killian whispered against her face, watching a single tear roll down her cheek. He brushed it away with his thumb, his hand shaking.

And then before he knew it, Emma was snaking her hands up Graham’s shoulders, grabbing his scruffing cheeks in her hands and pulling his face to hers. Killian began kissing her, pushing her into the sink and diving his hands into her hair, holding her face to his as he desperately tried to make her see. Make her feel.

His tongue danced with hers, brushing over her teeth and skimming her bottom lip, the prickling sensation returning to her skin. She pushed back, hands roaming over Graham’s torso tensely, yearning for the feel of what she wanted, the taste of Killian, and that was when Killian felt the ripping sensation, a burning stretch of a cramp-like pain tearing through his entire body. He was pulled backwards, out of Graham’s body and reduced to watching his girlfriend kissed by another man in front of him.

 _“NO!”_ He growled, running at Graham’s body again but failing at reincorporating himself into his skin. He tried again but just passed straight through them both. _“Emma!”_

The whistle of the kettle shook Emma and Graham apart and he pulled away from her, confusion written all over his face. He looked horrified, quickly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and eyes flitting around the kitchen. “Emma? Where am I?” He asked quickly, heart pounding in his chest.

Emma’s cheeks flushed red and she looked just as horrified. What had she done? “My house,” she said simply, moving to turn off the gas and soothe the screaming kettle.

Graham looked at her dazed, his eyes somehow a different shade of blue than a few seconds ago. His heart was racing and he wasn’t sure why, his mind running at a mile a minute to try and work out how he had ended up in a colleague’s kitchen in the middle of the day. “Um, why?” He asked stupidly.

Emma nodded towards the folder on the table behind him. “Something about Killian’s case,” she said quickly, pouring the boiling water into the glass cafetiere and resting the plunger on the top. “You had something.”

“Leroy is on Killian’s case,” he frowned, reaching for the folder.

Emma paused, the plunger halfway to the bottom of the glass container when a realisation hit her. She swallowed hard and pushed on the plunger, finally pouring the dark, sour liquid into the waiting mug before stirring and throwing the spoon into the sink.

_“Emma! It was me!”_

She grasped the mug and turned, offering it to Graham. “Here,” she said holding the mug at arm's length.

“What’s that?” Graham took the mug and stared into the black, swirling drink.

“You wanted a coffee,” Emma scowled, walls going back up as she folded her arms over her chest and leaned against the sink.

Graham laughed, almost hysterically and placed the coffee mug on the dining table, careful to place the scalding ceramic on a placemat. Emma watched with a sideways glare. “You know I don’t drink coffee,” Graham smiled nervously.

_“But I do!”_

“Right,” Emma agreed, her thoughts elsewhere suddenly. Killian loved coffee. He called her love. He scratched that soft patch of skin behind his ear when he was nervous. He made her skin feel like it was on fire every time he touched her. He kissed her just enough to curl her toes and leave her wanting more for the rest of her life, but Graham had not. For whatever reason, in her confusion, Emma had kissed Graham. Misheard some things he had said maybe, wishing it was the ghost of her dead boyfriend trying to send her a message. Emma quickly covered her mouth when a maniacal laugh slipped from her lips. She was going mad.

“Are you okay?” Graham asked smoothly, his Irish accent changed once more to an even thicker variation now he was sans Killian.

“I think you should leave,” she said sternly, pointing towards the door.

“Of course,” Graham gathered up the folder, whipped his jacket from the chair, and made his way to the door. “I’m sorry,” he offered, still unsure as to what he might be sorry for but sure he needed to apologize for something.

Killian watched Graham leave, a frustrated sigh grumbling from his mouth. He shouted to himself, clutching at his hair and pulling in annoyance. He kicked out at the table, foot flying straight through the wooden leg and as he spun on his heels to face Emma once more, he was sure his heart twisted a little more. She was frozen, fingertips lightly touching her lips and her emerald eyes far away in thought.

“Oh Emma,” Killian sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you survived the fanart, please do leave me a nice comment! XD


	6. Chapter 6

On day three, Emma slept in. It was the first time since he had returned that Killian had noticed her actually sleep. He didn’t need sleep it seemed, but that didn’t stop him from crawling up onto the bed and lying with Emma. He would shuffle his body in unnoticed and rest his head on the bed beside hers, wishing and hoping that when she opened her eyes she would see him.

Emma’s face twitched a little as she slept, her tiny hands clutching the comforter to her chin and her breathing shallow. It was early, barely daybreak and Killian missed the way he could wake up this early and simply watch Emma sleep beside him. The sunlight peeked through the crack in the curtain, barely warming her skin as she laid in the glow that passed directly through him, and he sighed an invisible breath.

“Emma, if you can hear me, I love you,” Killian whispered, ghosting his transparent hand over the soft skin of her cheek. Gods, he wished he could feel it beneath his fingertips.

Emma’s nose wrinkled a little, her brow furrowing before she took a deep breath and let out a long sigh, relaxing her grip of the duvet.

“I am trying to find a way back to you,” Killian said to her, moving his hand to try and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She had shifted slightly and it had tumbled from her brow, falling over her eyes and resting on the side of her nose. Nothing happened when Killian tried, but it didn’t stop him trying. “I promise,” he said sadly when the stray hair stayed where it was.

Emma groaned, shuffling closer to him and throwing an arm out over his side of the bed. If Killian had been whole, her arm would have been across his chest, her body cuddling up to his, but instead it simply fell through his being and landed on the creaseless covers underneath him. Killian was about to groan once more, when Emma whimpered his name.

“Killian…” she mumbled, almost incoherently beside him.

“Yes, Love, I’m here,” Kilian whispered back hopefully but he knew she couldn’t hear him.

“Killian...no…” Emma shifted her weight, rolling onto her back and kicking her legs out of the duvet. Killian eyed her worriedly, noticing tiny beads of sweat begin to form on her brow.

Killian leaned closer when she muttered something else in her sleep, her eyes moving frantically under her eyelids. He could hear her heartbeat pick up, pounding in her chest and her breathing turned shallower. Emma thrashed her head from side to side, her mouth dropping open and her breath hitching in the back of her throat.

“No!” She squeaked, her voice a little louder than before. Emma tossed again, her body fully turned away from him now and Killian filled the space instantly.

“Shhhh,” he soothed, wrapping his arms around her body. “I’m here,” he whispered into the back of her neck, her body still twitching and soft whimpers tumbling from her throat.

“Don’t...Don’t say goodbye,” Emma cried, her entire body still enveloped in sleep as the nightmare invaded her subconscious. Killian closed his eyes, willing the nightmare to fade and hoping that Emma knew he was there to comfort her.

“Swan…” he begged her to calm with her name when he saw the tears falling from her eyelids. Killian let his hand skim over her body and come to rest over the life growing inside of her. Emma stilled instantly, a relieved sigh tumbling from her lips and the hair on the back of her neck standing to attention.

Killian frowned, his fingers widening over her stomach. “Swan?” He whispered tentatively.

Emma’s hand moved over her stomach, sitting over the fabric of her top in exactly the same place Killian’s was. If he didn’t know better, Killian could swear he could feel her fingers lace with his and his jaw dropped open in surprise, his blue eyes wide with wonder. “Emma?” He asked shakily, saying her name with more desperation as he sat up beside her and looked down at her sleeping form.

“Killy?” Emma almost whispered, her child like voice seemingly lost in the sorrow of her words. Her words were somehow different to all the mournful pleas of the days gone by where Emma was practically begging him to answer her. It was as if she could hear him and couldn’t quite believe her ears, testing his name on her tongue to make sure she wasn’t, yet again, imagining his voice.

“Aye, Love!” he nodded quickly, pushing against her stomach a little harder with anticipation. “Can you hear me?”

Emma shifted a little, pushing her body back into his as a teary laugh left her sleeping form. “Yes,” she mumbled, pulling her legs up until she was curled up into a ball, trapping his hand on her stomach.

Killian felt himself cry out in excitement and flopped back down into the space behind her, wishing he could pull her to him and hold her tighter. Killian’s fingers flexed over her tummy and Emma’s hand toyed with his, her fingers inexplicably lacing through his and her fingertips digging into his palm. Killian didn’t know how, or why, but he could feel Emma. Really feel her hand in his but the sensation faded on the rest of his body, his arms, legs and torso still unable to feel her warmth.

Emma hummed in satisfaction, a tiny noise that often escaped her lips when they made love, or when he held her like this. It meant she was happy and he silently agreed. “I know,” he whispered behind the shell of Emma’s ear and he saw the tiny creep of a smile tug at the corner of her lips.

“The baby,” Emma murmured.

“Yes!” Killian chuckled. “We are having a baby!”

Emma screwed up her brow a little and buried her face into the pillow. “She knows,” Emma grunted sleepily.

“Who, Emma? She knows what, love?” Killian murmured into her ear, hardly able to believe that he was talking to Emma again, albeit in her sleep. He wasn’t sure how, but he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.

Emma sighed, rolling away from him nearer the edge of the bed and Killian had to pull his hand away from her abdomen. He immediately returned to feeling nothing beneath his fingertips, his ghostly hand resting on her hip but unable to feel a single bit of warmth that had been permeating his skin not two seconds ago.

“Baby,” Emma grumbled into her pillow. “She knows.”

Before he had time to process what Emma was saying, her alarm screamed on the bedside table, ringing out into the silent room and causing Emma to groan. Killian cursed himself for toying with the alarm, especially now that Emma was sleeping more than a few hours.

Emma peeled an eye open and slammed her hand down on the white, plastic box, the red numbers blurry through her vision. Yesterday’s conversation with Graham entered her mind, his comment about the alarm and faucets making her frown in confusion. It couldn’t have been Killian, could it? Emma pushed herself into a seated position and ran her hand through her hair, bunching it as she scratched at her scalp. She yawned, wide and long, smacking her lips together at the end and then looking beside her to Killian’s side of the bed.

Of course, it was empty. Not even a wrinkle on the covers, but Emma was sure she had felt him. She was sure she had talked to him. She was absolutely adamant that his hand had been on her stomach and they had talked about their baby. Emma’s hand skimmed over her still flat belly and she sighed.

“Killian,” She whispered to no one.

  
The flowers were dying. The sunlight streaming through the window couldn’t change the fact that the heads of several flowers had become limp, their heads wilting, petals shrivelled and hanging limp and forlorn. Even their stems had decided to give up, the life indicating green changing to a paler shade, dirting the water at their ends where they had begun to rot under the surface.

Emma watched Mary Margaret from the couch, her sister in law pulling the dead and dying stems from the many bouquets she had been sent. A bunch of soggy flowers were starting to pile up nearby, their wet stems quickly leaving a damp patch to the paper towel that Mary Margaret had laid out to catch them.

“Is it okay if I do this?” She asked Emma softly, turning to offer her a quick smile as she rearranged a smaller bouquet of mixed colours now they were sans the roses that had long since shed their petals.

Emma shrugged, lost in thought. She couldn’t stop thinking about her dream that had so incredibly interrupted her nightmare. She had been reliving the most painful time in her life, unable to save the man she loved just like she had every night since Killian was gunned down outside of their home. Only, this time, it was different.

Just before Killian took his last breath, a moment that caused her eyes to prick with tears and soak her pillow night after night, Emma had felt a welcome chill over her entire body. It had spread over her so quickly that she wasn’t sure what was happening, and then the world in her dream had disappeared, leaving just her and Killian, both alive and well and transported to their bedroom. Emma hated these dreams. They had no end and no beginning and the middle part always hurt the worst.

But this one had been different. She had felt a calm, the chill followed by Killian’s hands as he had wrapped her up in his arms and chased away her demons. The way he nuzzled into her neck, whispering into his ear was so familiar, so real, it was like she was awake and they were still together. Still happy.

And then when she had felt Killian’s fingers interlock with hers over their unborn child, she had known it was more than just a dream. The whole fiasco with Graham the day before had given her cause for concern, and she had gone to bed that night hoping that she was just in a stage of grief and not going completely insane.

“Do you want me to make a list?” Mary Margaret interrupted her without even realising it, leaning back against the wall next to the couch.

“I’m sorry?” Emma asked with knitted brows, finally looked up to meet her sister-in-law’s gaze.

“For the cards,” Mary Margaret said sympathetically. “So we know who to thank for sending them.”

“Oh,” Emma turned back to looking down at her bent knees tucking up under herself in the huge couch cushions. A thin scrap of thread poked from the blanket that covered her legs and she picked at it idly.

“It’s okay,” Mary Margaret assured her, stepping away from the wall and moving to sit on the coffee table opposite Emma. “You are clearly not in the mind set for this today.”

Mary Margaret offered a weak smile and placed her hand on Emma’s knee, giving it a little squeeze of reassurance.

“I kissed Graham Humbert,” Emma blurted out, the tears stinging in her eyes once again. Emma flopped her head back on the cushions and looked away from her sister-in-law.

“Oh,” Mary Margaret said softly, not often at a loss for words.

Emma let out a short laugh. “I thought…” She stopped herself, biting her bottom lip and shaking her head in disbelief. How was she supposed to tell someone she thought it was her dead boyfriend in the body of another man and not sound the least bit crazy?

“Emma, grief affects us all differently,” Mary Margaret consoled her with a sigh. “It doesn’t mean…”

“This is going to sound weird, but I thought he was Killian,” Emma whimpered, letting out a watery laugh as soon as the words left her mouth.

Mary Margaret frowned and looked at her sister-in-law with real concern. “Okay…” she said slowly, encouraging Emma to give her more reasoning.

“And when I kissed him, I realised that it wasn't him. And I don't know which is more traumatic...the fact that it wasn't him, or that I wished it was." Emma looked back to Mary Margaret, quickly wiping at the tears that had starting to stream down her face as she sat forward on the couch and hung her head in her hands. “I’m going insane.”

“Emma, this is normal. When we suffer a loss, we try to find any way we can to pretend it never happened. To go back to the way things were before.” Mary Margaret was met with silence, but she continued anyway. “You suffered not just loss, but it was traumatic.”

“Maybe that’s it,” Emma sniffed and lifted her head, wiping her sleeve under her nose. “Maybe I have PTSD or something. Why else would I keep thinking all these things.”

“What things, honey?” Mary Margaret shuffled to the edge of the table and the magazine next to her fell to the floor between them. Emma let out a maniacal laugh and rubbed her hand over her brow, the sense of deja vu making her skin prickle with heat. “Emma, are you okay?”

Emma shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she offered sadly, taking a deep breath and grabbing her sister-in-law by the hand. “I thought Graham was Killian because he called me ‘love’ and he knew where Killian kept his coffee. He even said the exact phrase Killian used about keeping it fresh.”

“Emma, I don’t think…” Mary Margaret tried to reason, but Emma squeezed her hand and carried on.

“He even did that nervous thing Killian does where he scratches behind his ear!” Emma laughed again, sniffing away her tears. “And don’t even get me started on all the weird shit that keeps happening around this place. My alarm has a mind of its own, my faucet is possessed and that magazine…” Emma pointed to the papery heap on the floor.

“What about it?” Mary Margaret bent down and picked it up, setting it back on the table beside her.

“I was sitting here and I could swear I could feel him, Mary Margaret, he was touching my face, right after a magazine fell to the floor in exactly the same way that one just has.” Emma pointed to the magazine beside Mary Margaret accusingly and she followed the point of her finger. “When I picked it up, it was open to an article about life after death.”

“I’m sure it’s just a coincidence, Emma,” Mary Margaret soothed, sure that her sister-in-law was going crazy. Emma was falling off of a wagon and she hadn’t even noticed her lose her balance.

“I spoke to him,” Emma said quickly. She was aware that everything else she had experienced could have been fortuitous, and she realised how crazy she sounded by the look on Mary Margaret’s face. But there was no denying what she knew in her heart; Emma had somehow talked to Killian in her dream. “He’s not dead,” Emma said defiantly, brushing her hair from her face and resting her hands over their unborn child. “We know it.”


	7. Chapter 7

 

The fourth day started much like the last. Emma had continued to have nightmares, muttering and whimpering in her sleep as she relived the moment Killian had died in her arms. Even when she had drifted off, napping on the couch wrapped in the blanket that still smelled of him, Killian noticed the twitch in her facial muscles as she once again got stuck in the horrors of her reverie.

He had followed her around the house, watching her yet again make hot drink after hot drink, only to discard the still full cup into the sink with a disgusted look on her face. He felt like a dog, obediently worrying about her everytime she was out of sight, unable to communicate. That was until Emma was asleep. If the events of yesterday were anything to go on, it was clear he was making some sort of progress.

His time was running out. If Killian could feel the chill of panic, he was sure that he would. But it seemed that somehow their child was the key to communicating with Emma, even if it meant she had to be asleep. Killian had tried, many times, when she was awake, but to no avail. He knew two things for certain. When Emma was awake, resting his hand over her stomach had zero effect on her and whispering in her ear was simply ignored. But when she was asleep, the same action had such perfect results it made his heart swell.

Laying in the space that he used to occupy each night, Killian wrapped his arms around Emma whilst she slept. Her body instinctively arched into his, and he smiled, a small twitch of his lips tinged with sadness. He flattened his palm over her belly, an abnormal warmth filling his hand and radiating up his arm as Emma muttered his name.

“Killian?” She mumbled, her voice changed with sleep.

“Aye, love,” Killian whispered, nuzzling into the back of her hair.

“Are you really there?” Emma asked softly, her voice childlike and her words seeming so innocent.

“I am,” he assured her sweetly.

“How?” Emma sighed, rubbing her face on the pillow with a frown. Killian nudged his spectral chin into her shoulder.

“I’m not sure,” Killian said softly, his voice an echo in his own ears.

“She knows,” Emma purred with a smile, stretching her fingers over Killian’s where they lay.

Killian frowned. Although this seemed to be the only way he could actually communicate with Emma, it seemed she was even more cryptic than Liam.

Killian felt a pull, a flash of light blinding him as he was wrenched out of the bed and away from Emma. There was a mechanical groaning sound surrounding him and he clamped his hands over his ears to try and drown it out. In his confusion, Killian hadn’t noticed the quickening of time until Emma yawned and stretched in fast forward, jumping from the bed and rushing around the bedroom like someone else was controlling her.

“Emma?” Killian asked gently, stepping in her way only to have her evaporate right through him and out of the room. The sunlight spread across the wall in front of him, a perfect sunrise disappearing into a perfect sunset in less than thirty seconds.

“She cannot hear you, brother.”

Killian spun on his heels, eyes wide with even more turmoil. “Liam?” He said, chagrined even more.

Liam nodded. He was wearing the same clothes as before and seemed to ignore the progression of the day as the light around them dulled and turned to darkness. Emma sped back into the room, settling herself in bed and eventually falling asleep.

“What is this?” Killian motioned to Emma with an extended arm, the horror on his face clearly evident. “Why is time moving so rapidly?” He demanded, his unnecessary breathing starting to quicken.

“This is the Om,” Liam smiled sideways and pressed his fingertips together as he spoke.

“The what, mate?” Killian huffed, watching Emma rise again and stomp to the bathroom in double time.

“The Om,” Liam repeated and Killian held up a clenched fist to cut his words short.

“Yeah, you said that already,” he growled. Killian’s jaw twitched with agitation and he gulped hard. “But would you care to explain why my Emma is moving at full speed whilst we are fixed here in normalcy?”

“Careful,” Liam warned with a wicked grin. “Your emotions seem to be besting you, brother.”

“Look,” Killian shuffled from one foot to the other. “I just want to get home, and right now, it seems like my time is literally flashing before my eyes.” Killian watched as Emma returned to their bed for a second time, the light of the moon illuminating their room in a second.

“The Om has no consequence on the earthly plane,” Liam assured him, pacing a little. He moved with a shadow of fog and it followed him across the room. It was the first time Killian had seen him move with any real purpose, and he seemed to disrupt the flow of time. “When one of my kind visits the earthly plane, The Om disrupts time momentarily.” Liam reached out and picked up a photograph of Killian and Emma that rested on the nightstand, turning it slightly away from the bed.

“So, I still have time?” Killian breathed a sigh and watched Emma rise for the third time in their brief conversation.

“When we are done here, you will return to the exact moment from which I withdrew you.”

“Three days have not just flown by?” Killian couldn't stop his voice jumping with emotion.

“You still have time,” Liam smiled and moved back across the room. No sooner had he done so, Emma appeared in the space, righting the wayward photograph with a frown. “People on the earthly plane do not see us, or our actions. And if they do,” he paused, watching Emma speed away once more. “They simply think they are imagining things.”

“Is that what Emma thinks? When she hears me at night?” Killian’s voice had changed with his relief.

“No,” Liam smiled. “Emma knows it is you.”

“How?” Killian sobbed, his emotions getting the better of him. He took a step towards Liam, his eyes watery with tears. “How can you be so sure?”

“The Om encompasses the consciousness of all beings,” Liam droned, pulling his hands together behind his back.

“What does that mean?” Killian pleaded.

“It means,” Liam began, an almost proud smirk playing across his lips. “That the child growing inside of her has the means to bring the two planes of existence together.”

“Our child?” Killian raised a brow. “Our child can do that?”

“You’ve witnessed it yourself, brother,” Liam said calmly. “Each time you’re near her womb, the child channels the cosmic energy needed to be known. Or in your case, heard.”

Killian’s brow knitted in thought, his heartbeat picking up in his chest and racing quicker than Emma currently was through her life. He couldn’t quite understand what Liam was saying. Neither he nor Emma were particularly special people, simply living their lives one day at a time, protecting and serving. Sacrificing. How could their child be anything different?

“A parent is a god in the eyes of all children,” Liam interrupted his thoughts, reading his mind with a smirk. “She thinks no different of her father.”

“She?” Killian couldn’t stop the sob from escaping his mouth. “It’s a girl?” he grinned, his cries hitching in his throat.

“She is the hope that will guide you home, Killian,” Liam began to fade away with his words, the entire room around them switching into reverse and time rewinding.

Everything went black once more and Killian opened his eyes when he heard the familiar sigh of Emma beside him. She was back in his arms and when he shot a glance at the clock beside them, no time had passed, his little trip into the Om seeming to have never happened.

“She knows,” Emma muttered again, reaching her hand behind her head and caressing the soft hair behind his ear. Killian’s eyes went wide with shock and he froze, unable to compute what was happening. Emma was reaching out, touching him, and he could feel it! Killian looked at his body, still haunting and almost glowing with transparency. How could he feel Emma? Could she feel him or was she simply reaching out for him in an intimate memory of what used to be?

Emma grabbed Killian’s hand and pressed it into her stomach, his skin tingling from both sides and confirming his question. “I can feel you, Killian,” Emma smiled, her voice a little more awake as she began to rouse from her slumber.

Killian didn’t know what to do so he simply held her tight, pulling her against his body in the way he had missed. He never wanted to be without Emma or their baby, and if it took the ultimate sacrifice to get back to them, Killian would do it without question. He was willing to give up everything and anything for Emma and their baby - their daughter.

When Emma’s eyes finally fluttered open, she was wearing a broad grin and looked happy for the first time in a long while. She rolled over, arm reaching out to grab at her boyfriend, but the bed was empty. Emma frowned, sitting up a little on her elbow and carding her fingers through the hair on the back of her scalp as her grin turned into a weak smile, the distinct Killian shaped imprint on the comforter and pillow having appeared in the night.

Emma inhaled hard and when she flopped down onto Killian’s side of the bed, bunching his pillow in her arms, she was sure that the accompanying scent of woody spice and sea salt was definitely not a figment of her imagination anymore.


	8. Chapter 8

 

There were very few things as satisfying as hearing confirmation of a deed well done.  For far too long, the name ‘Jones’ had given him a deep-seated hatred for all things cop.  Well, being the head of an international crime syndicate was more than enough reason to hate cops, but luckily for him, a deal had been brokered and it was done.

When Jones had relocated to the states and become a cop, he had been on him almost instantly.  It started out small, tit for tat, arresting a few of his men here and there and making his presence known.  Gold knew he was watching him, Jones had even gone as far as to tell him face to face in a very public restaurant, and at first, Gold had found it endearing.  He knew he was untouchable.  He hadn’t built a crime empire because he had been put off by one cop.

Over the years, Jones became a problem.  More than a few of his good men were now in prison, and for their silence and discretion, Gold paid them by taking care of their families on the outside.  It was becoming increasingly more costly to take care of old employees and hire new ones.  And good guys didn’t come cheap, their skills tailoring to one specialty that meant he would have to hire multiple men for a single job.  Gold missed the days gangsters and thieves had their fingers in many, many pies.

And then there were the dirty cops he kept on the books, just as expensive as the next drug runner or hitman.  They helped him out of many predicaments, simply sweeping his deeds under the carpet where they were lost in cold cases.  For years, Gold managed to grow, expanding his reach across America, selling drugs, weapons, people, whatever he could to make a profit.  Mr. Gold was his real name and he lived up to his wealth every single day, appearing only dressed in fine, fitted suits, always cleanly shaven and never without his cane.  It was expensive, one of a kind and custom made, and despite the fact he had zero need for it, Gold always liked to use it to give the impression of weakness.

If your enemy underestimated your strength, it made it easier to overthrow them.

But then, the young rookie with a hero complex named Jones appeared in his life and Gold began to notice a change.  His men began to shy away from his orders, questioning his motives because they were seemingly afraid of this Jones character.  It irritated Gold, so naturally, he had tried to buy the cop off.  Jones declined his offer and with some choice words, the pair began their conflict.

It continued for years and he watched the rookie grow into a detective, given more power with his new job title and more access to dig into Gold’s life.  Jones made it his personal mission to bring Gold down, using every single free moment he had to find ways to mess with him.  

Jones had once said something about killing his parents, believing Gold responsible for the night they were gunned down in an alleyway and stripped of their valuables.  Gold didn’t remember everyone he had murdered when he was starting his empire, especially two nobodies who were probably just a means to an end, so with a sideways smirk and a dead-eye stare, Gold had told him he hadn’t been the one to pull the trigger and had Jones escorted from his office.

Finally, Gold had endured enough and wanted Jones gone.  The man couldn’t be bought.  He was a very large thorn in Gold’s side and on top of all of his agitation, Gold had to spend even more money to take him out.

Killing a cop didn’t come cheap.

 

The office Gold frequented was always dark and cold.  Dust covered every surface and the lights were dimmed all along the hallway.  Gold had no heavies guarding him, his office at the very back of the shop Gold kept as a money laundering front.  It was inconspicuous, a simple antique store from the outside, selling many high priced items that covered part of his underhanded business earnings, and Gold had settled here to be alone.  People always called him The Dark One and it was starting to become clear as to why.  

The door loomed at the end of the hall, one single light hanging over the door frame and shining a spot of subdued orange onto the floor.  It was a mark, the last circle of light in the darkness.  And it was petrifying.

The door opened and Gold stood with a steady grin spread across his face.

“Detective,” he greeted, motioning into the blackened room behind him.

“Gold.”  With a nod, the detective squeezed past Gold, entering the darkened room that instantly felt even colder than the hall.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Gold pushed the door closed behind them, unable to stop the sly smile on his face.  He took a step into the room, leaning on his cane resting in front of him.

“It’s done,” the detective said quickly, looking at his feet and scratching at the scruff on his chin before pushing his hands into his pockets.

“Straight to the point, detective.  I like it,” Gold grinned, enjoying the way he could hear the detective’s heartbeat pounding in his chest.

“I don’t want to be here any longer than I need to be.  It’s done.”

“Is it now?”  Gold licked his lips, his sinister voice hanging thick in the air.

“I saw the body myself.”

“That was part of the deal,” Gold smirked, watching the detective squirm under his gaze.

“You bastard! He was my colleague, a fellow detective,” the raised tone of his voice cracked under his emotion.

In a flash, Gold was at his side, cane digging into the top of his foot through his boot and a strangled cry tumbling from his mouth.  “You should have thought of that before you joined him in his crusade,” Gold spat.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean…”

“Uh Uh Uh,” Gold chimed, removing his cane from the detective’s foot and grabbing the man by the face, his nail digging into his chubby cheeks.  Gold didn’t have to say anything else.  The detective was silenced immediately and Gold loosened his grip, giving him a playful slap on the face.

“Jones was a good man, a good detective…”

“Jones was hell-bent on ruining me,” Gold growled, banging his cane on the floor with an echo.  “Nobody will know it was you,” Gold assured the sweating detective.  “You’ll get a new partner and everything will blow over when this turns into a cold case.”

“Why me?  I have a family,” he implored.

“We all have our price,” Gold grinned, turning away.  “Yours just happens to be a lot lower than I had expected.”

“So our deal is done now?  Is my debt cleared?”

Gold laughed, a sadistic rumble in the back of his throat and he shook his head.  “I want one more thing,” Gold smiled wickedly, pressing a long, bony finger to his lips and stepping towards the shorter man once more.  When he gave him a questioning look, Gold bared his teeth.  “Say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say it.  Out loud.  I want to revel in the joy of the words as they fall from your mouth,” Gold twirled his hand in the air beside his head and spun on his heels, his dramatics bordering on joyously evil.

“I…”

“Yes, that’s it, go on,” Gold whispered darkly.

“I…I killed Liam Jones.”

An impish giggle escaped Gold’s lips and he slapped the detective on the shoulder proudly,  licked his lips and looked over at the shaking detective.  God, he loved breaking people.  “There, there, Leroy,” he said in a sickly sweet tone that made Leroy’s skin crawl.  “Now we are even.”

 

It was not long after the older Jones had met his demise when the younger Jones began snooping around, digging into his brother’s case files, connecting the dots.  Gold had a muscle in his jaw that he hadn’t flexed since the day Liam Jones had been gunned down by an ‘unknown assailant’.  He had learned to relax it, keep his anger at bay and focus on the more intricate sides of his business.  Until now.

Killian Jones was more tenacious, a little smarter and not as hot-headed as the older Jones.  It made him a more dangerous adversary, one that Gold could not give an inch.  Where Liam was a bull, rushing in and aggressively threatening Gold with what little power he actually did have, Killian was a fox, picking off Gold’s men one by one like chickens in a hen house.

If he didn’t stop the younger Jones soon, he could become a real credible threat to the Gold empire.

“They attend the Nolan Charity Gala every year,” his henchman grunted, handing Gold a photo of Killian Jones exiting his home in a fine tuxedo suit and his pretty girlfriend on his arm.  “They have to attend,” he tapped the picture when Gold rested it on the desk.  “This is Emma Swan.”

“The wife?” Gold looked up at him.

“She wishes,” he scoffed.  “Her brother is David Nolan.”

“Interesting,” Gold looked back to the photo.  “And you can make this look like an accident?”

The man, Hyde, nodded confidently.  “Absolutely.  I have the perfect guy.  He owes me.”

Gold’s face lit up at the prospect of a deal.  “You have a negotiation?”

“We will have,” Hyde shrugged.  “Jefferson has a very low price.”

The impish giggle that Gold was so known for escaped through his gleaming grin.  “The Gala is Friday night,” Gold said seriously, losing his smile and sliding the photo back across the table.  “Make sure he does not make it.”

“Of course, Mr. Gold.  Consider Killian Jones a dead man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has come to my attention that i have not made this chapter very clear in the timeline - if you are confused, this is a flashback type chapter that introduces Gold. Kind of. lol Just ask me any more questions :)


	9. Chapter 9

 

Graham didn’t remember when he had acquired Killian Jones’ case.  He had the strangest dream a few days ago and when he had walked into the office the next day, his name was scrawled in someone else’s handwriting next to the case number.  When he had questioned how his name had appeared next to the most high profile case on the board, his colleague had simply laughed at him and slapped him on the shoulder playfully, telling him with a smirk that if he didn’t recognise his own handwriting, then maybe he wasn’t the man for the job.

Captain Lucas had even congratulated him on the lead he had discovered.  That he remembered.  One of his informants had spilled the beans for a very small price, telling Graham about Jefferson, the small time everything man with an even smaller fee.  The man was deplorable.  He would do anything for anything, and he always seemed to have a way of disappearing down a rabbit hole when the cops were closing in.

That was, until Graham had uncovered his weakness.  Jefferson had a daughter and would do everything within his power to keep her safely away from the world he lived in.  So when Graham had suggested his informant spread the word that Jefferson’s daughter might be inexplicably tossed back into the foster care system, if he didn’t hand himself in, where she would undoubtedly follow in her old man’s footsteps, it hadn’t taken the vagabond long to turn himself in.  And all it had cost Graham was a second greasy burger because apparently he had caught his informant hungry.

When Graham got the call to come to the front desk that afternoon, he wasn’t sure what had been said around the streets, but he was sure it was his informant’s ability to spin a tall tale that had made Jefferson surrender so quickly.  When he rounded the corner of the staircase and stepped into the much louder, bustling precinct lobby, Graham instantly recognised the hunched figure at the desk.  Jefferson was clearly nervous, his grubby hands shaking between the handcuffs strapped to his wrists and his leg bouncing up and down in a steady rhythm that clearly had absolutely no calming effect whatsoever.

“Jefferson,” Graham shouted over the rabble, making the man jump with a hand to his shoulder.

“Detective Humbert,” Jefferson replied quickly, standing immediately and letting Graham steer him along a long, white washed hallway by the elbow.  “I got your message.”

 A small smile crept upon Graham’s lips as he pushed one of the interrogation room doors open and motioned Jefferson inside.  “Which message was that?”  

Jefferson shuffled towards the metal table.  Two identical metal chairs were positioned on either side and he sank down into one, his handcuff chain rattling against the surface of the table with his shaking.  “You know, the message.”

Graham pulled one of the chairs out, the scraping noise echoing in the empty room, before he sat down too, leaning back and folding his arms over his chest.  He pursed his bottom lip and shook his head, feigning ignorance.  There were a few times when a cop had to cross a line, but you never admitted it, especially in an interrogation room.  “Message?”

Jefferson pointed at him with a brown toothed grin, his unkempt mess of dark brown hair hanging almost to his shoulders.  He winked at Graham, tapping the side of his nose.  “Oh, I get it,” he shuffled closer to the table, leaning closer to Graham,  “Our little secret.”

Graham licked his lips and sighed.  The man was a mess, a twitching shell of a man who looked like he was trying to have three or four conversations at once, his face constantly contorting into different expressions and his ears perking up at nothing.  There was a reason they called Jefferson the Mad Hatter.  

“Are you high?” Graham asked him, lacing his fingers together and resting them onto the cool, metal surface between them.  “Because you know I can’t take anything you say as truth if you are.”

“No,” Jefferson said slowly, looking up at Graham sheepishly.

“Because if you are, what would your daughter think?” Graham looked at Jefferson disappointed.

“No, no, no, no,” Jefferson muttered quickly, shaking his head as if to try and rid himself of the voices that resided there.  “I’m not, I promise.”

“Good,” Graham leaned back once more, folding his arms and staring into Jefferson with a seriousness the man recognised well.  As mousy and feeble as Graham seemed to everyone, he was a cop who could get things done and in some cases, all he had to do was stare a perp out.  “I wouldn’t want you to let Grace down.”

Jefferson stopped his leg twitching, stilling it under the table at his daughter’s name.  The whole sentence had a double meaning, one that had been indicated to him clearly on the streets, and Jefferson would rather spend the rest of his life in jail than see anything happen to his daughter.  He had already lost her once, sucked into the underworld of drugs and unable to claw his way free, she had been taken from him.  The last time he crossed Humbert, he had lost his once monthly visitation rights.

“I won’t,” He said sadly, wringing his dirty hands together as a tear escaped from his eye and his breathing quickened.

“You’re doing the right thing,” Graham offered softly.  He might be tricking the man into a confession, but it was the right thing to do.  Jefferson had pulled the trigger that night, killing his fellow detective in cold blood, and they both knew it.

“You promise she will be safe,” Jefferson sniffed, looking up to Graham with a watery gaze.  A tear streaked down his face and cleaned a path through the grime that had layered his skin from sleeping on the streets for so long.  Jefferson tugged the the hem of his hoodie sleeve, tiny dark brown flecks of Killian’s blood still haunting him every time he saw them in the fabric.

“You know I will,” Graham told him.

“I did it,” Jefferson sighed, the words leaving his mouth on a whimper that felt like such a relief.

“Did what, Jefferson?” Graham leaned forward, flattening his palms to the table. 

“I killed him,” Jefferson sniffed pathetically, wiping the back of his bunched hands under his eyes.  His leg had restarted its bouncing under the table and the handcuff chain rattled against the metal surface once more.

“Who did you kill, Jefferson?” Graham prodded.  He had read somewhere that the use of a perps name encouraged a more heartfelt connection, making their confession easier.  

Jefferson paused, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth and looking around the room.  It was dark, only lit over the table where they sat and the walls a concrete grey.  It seemed cold, vacant and Jefferson wondered if that was what prison was like.  “I’m doing this for Grace,” he whimpered, his sobs making his entire body jolt forward.

“You’re a good father, Jefferson,” Graham said sincerely.  

It wasn’t a total lie.  Despite all of his shortcomings and transgressions, Jefferson had never once done anything to jeopardize the safety of his daughter.  He had led his entire criminal life with her in mind, stealing to buy her things that she needed, providing for her with the only means he knew how.  At some point, his life had spiraled into bigger crime, heists, and blackmail, and Grace had shifted from being his reason for his weakness.  Graham had helped him get her away from it all, into the foster system and into a great family.

“You think?” Jefferson laughed, swallowing hard.

“I know,” Graham offered him a weak smile.  There was nothing that made you a better parent than sacrifice for your child.  “So come on,” he encouraged.  “Who did you kill?”

Jefferson inhaled hard, letting out a breath on an audible sigh that sounded like he had reached peace.  “Killian Jones,” he said stiffly.  “I killed Detective Killian Jones.  Shot him dead outside of his home with a stolen 9mm Vector pistol.”

Graham felt a shiver at Jefferson’s confession.  Whilst he knew he had done it, it was something else to hear the details that only the police report had come out of the man’s mouth.  The type of pistol was never divulged to the public through the news and only the shooter would have known that.

“Serial numbers filed off, of course,” Jefferson quirked his eyebrow and looked down at his hands again.  “His blood is still on my sleeves here,” he offered his cuffed hands to Graham who looked over the dried flecks with a frown.

“So why you?”

Jefferson looked up and gulped hard.  “I owe people.  I owed Gold.”

“Lots of people owe Gold,” Graham said flippantly.  He pointed at Jefferson with a menacing finger.  “Why you specifically?”

“I’m a nobody,” Jefferson shrugged.  “I am expendable. I have weaknesses.  I have my price.  Pick your reason! I suppose I was the perfect fit to off a dirty cop.”

“Killian Jones wasn’t dirty,” Graham said gruffly, balling his fist on the table in front of him.

“Are you sure?  Rumour has it he was following in big brother's footsteps.”

Graham ran his tongue over the back of his teeth.  Whilst he had never met the oldest Jones brother, he had heard stories of the die hard cop willing to do anything to get the job done.  Liam Jones was tough, rugged and had a personal vendetta against Gold which made him a lot of friends in very dark, but high, places.  If he wasn’t dirty, Graham would have been surprised.

“Why did you do it?” He asked softly, redirecting his question that had so far got him no answer he could use in a court of law.

“Hyde threatened my daughter,” Jefferson cried again, fresh tears welling in his eyes.

“Hyde?” Graham sounded disappointed for a second.  He had expected Jefferson to say more about Gold and Liam Jones, but it was close enough.

Jefferson nodded.  “That piece of shit works for Gold you know.”  Graham nodded his agreement.  Everyone knew who Hyde worked for and who protected him from being touched by any law enforcement agency.  “Said if I didn’t kill Jones and disappear into one of my little rabbit holes, Grace would suffer.”  Jefferson couldn’t stop the hot tears stinging his face as he thought about what might have happened to his daughter.  “He said he would make sure I never knew where she was buried.”

“Okay,” Graham stopped Jefferson’s tirade and encouraged him to calm down by pausing.  Jefferson was clearly agitated and for a second Graham felt guilty he had suggested the foster care mishap that would have meant Grace got sent back to a care home.  

“You can make sure she is safe,” Jefferson said defiantly.  “You can make sure they never find her,” Jefferson sniffed.  “Right?  That’s what you promise.  That’s why I am here.”

“Look, Jefferson,” Graham began, leaning over and uncuffing Jefferson’s hands.  The man wasn’t a threat in this room and Graham figured with what was to come, the guy deserved a break.  “I know you are not a bad guy.  You have just been dealt the worst hand, right?”

“Right,” Jefferson agreed tearfully, rubbing at his wrists.

“I can get Grace into witness protection, but only if you think you can help me get to Gold.”  Jefferson stopped his leg jig under the table once more, his face paling.  Graham wasn’t sure if it was fear or something else, but Jefferson knew something that terrified him.  “Do you think you can do that?”

“What will happen to me?” Jefferson looked up at Graham again and he could tell that he didn’t really care.  All the man cared about was his daughter, so his question puzzled Graham who frowned.

“Well, you killed a cop,” Graham said matter of factly.  “People will want to see you pay, but I will make sure you get leniency for your help.”

“No death penalty?”  Jefferson asked hopefully.

“No death penalty,” Graham promised.  “And Grace safe.  With a family who will know nothing about you or her past.”

“Will I ever see her again?” Jefferson’s voice cracked and he wrapped his arms around his body, hugging his arms as his breath hitched in his throat.  Graham looked away sadly.

“Probably not.”

“Good,” Jefferson said and turned away, staring at the corner of the room.  “All I bring her is hurt.  She’s better off without me.”

Graham watched Jefferson claw at the skin on the back of his hands, clearly a nervous habit that had previously left scars.  His nails raked over the ridges of flesh like it was nothing, hands quivering, blackened nails white because of how hard he was pressing.  Graham caught his attention again, this time by sliding a pad of yellow lined paper across the desk, a black pen resting on the page in front of him.

“I need you to write it down.  Your confession,” Graham told him gently.  Jefferson looked up at him, eyes red and puffy.

“There is more to the death of your Detective Jones,” He said as he grabbed the pen and began scribbling on the paper.  “Both of them.  It’s bigger than you know.”


	10. Chapter 10

 

When Emma awoke the next day, the Killian shaped dent in the side of her bed was still there. It had become more pronounced since yesterday, somehow heavier and more recognisable as her boyfriend than anything she had seen so far. She settled into her side of the bed facing the space beside her with a smile, her hand tucked under her head as she imagined Killian’s face beside her.

“Good morning,” she croaked, voice full of sleep. She gave a little stretch, toes curling under the duvet and fingers gripping the pillow beneath her head harder. Of course, no answer came, but it didn’t stop her reaching out her hand and stroking the air above Killian’s pillow as if she was stroking his face.

“Good morning, love,” Killian smiled at her as if she could see him. It didn’t matter if she couldn’t, she believed he was there and that was all he needed. Emma’s hand touched his face and her fingers trailed down his cheek as his eyes fluttered closed. “Gods, I wish you could see me,” he sighed.

“I know you are with me,” Emma beamed.

“Always,” Killian said softly back to her, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. He felt like he had lied to her, something he never wanted to do. Killian had just three days to find whatever cryptic solution Liam had cooked up so that he could return to Emma and their baby. Three days.

The knock on the front door grabbed both their attention, and Emma let out a groan. Killian had missed her little quirks. She hadn’t exactly been herself lately, consumed by her grief, and it was good to see the genuine emotion on her face. Even if it was an annoyance.

A second pound on the wooden door rattled the brass knocker and Emma huffed as she threw the duvet back and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She rubbed her eyes lazily as she rose to her feet, heading toward the top of the stairs.

“I’m just coming!” She called down the staircase, watching the tall, dark figure looming around through the half moon window at the top of the door. Emma frowned as she reached the bottom step and padded across the warmed wooden floor barefoot, reaching out and turning the brass knob of the door.

 _“Humbert?”_ Killian asked shocked when the door swung open, his lips twisting into a jealous grimace.

“Graham?” Emma said at the exact same time, and Killian glanced at her sideways.

“Emma, Hi,” Graham began dropping his gaze to the folder in his hands. Emma followed his gaze and suddenly her smile was gone. “Can we talk?”

Killian watched as Emma’s defenses went up, her arms folding across her chest automatically and her body slumping against the doorframe. “About?”

 _“Yes, about what?”_ Killian growled.

“Killian,” Graham said simply, his voice hushed as one of Emma’s neighbours walk by the house and took a long, hard look a the thirty something widow the whole street was talking about.

“Killian?” Emma stepped back, again inviting Graham into the house without saying a word.

_“Me?”_

Graham followed her into the house, his brow furrowing at the strangest sense of deja vu. He felt like he had been here and done this before, but he shook it off quickly. Graham pushed the door closed behind them and followed her when Emma went into the kitchen, filling the kettle from the faucet and placing the blackened kettle to the flame ring that was hissing atop the hob.

“We’ve arrested someone,” Graham said triumphantly, placing the file on the dining table.

Emma froze, shoulders tensing as she stared into the mug in front of her. “Who?” She almost whispered, her hands balling into fists on the counter. Her happiness was gone, the reality of facing the rest of her life alone suddenly very real.

“It’s not important,” Graham soothed, reaching for the folder and opening it slowly.

_“I’d beg to differ, mate…”_

Emma choked out a laugh. “It’s not important because it was random, or it’s not important because you know it wasn’t?” Emma spun to face Graham whose cheeks had flushed under her interrogation.

“It’s related to Gold,” Graham dodged her question with information he hoped her professional side wouldn’t be able to resist.

“Gold?”

_“That son of a bitch…”_

Graham nodded and finished opening the folder he had reached for earlier. “The shooter mentioned both Liam and Killian being involved in something…” he paused, looking up at her and gulping hard.

“What?” Emma’s voice was darker than before, her jaw clenching with anger.

“I’m not sure. He said it was something bigger than we know.” Graham licked his lips nervously and could swear he could feel a chill running up his spine.

_“The files…”_

Emma pinched the bridge of her nose and breathed through the rage boiling inside of her like the water rumbling around the kettle. She turned off the hob and turned back to look at Graham.

“What exactly are you trying to suggest, Humbert?” Emma growled, stepping towards him in a move that made Graham flinch backwards. He might be tough when it came to perps, but Graham and Emma went back a long way and she had scared him since the day they both met in the police academy.

“Emma, you know I would never tell you this without thinking there was something more to it,” he said, holding up his hands to stop her advance.

_“Say what?”_

“Just say it.” Emma’s voice was rough and the skin on the back of her neck burned with redness.

Graham swallowed again, the lump in his throat not budging. “Emma, I think Liam and Killian were dirty and it got them killed.”

Killian had heard enough. He wanted to get his ghostly hands and wring Graham’s neck. He surged forward, hands balled into fists that he had every intention of trying to use but instead he was stopped dead when he felt the tug of a tether as he reach Graham. Temporarily blinded, Killian peeled his eyes open and focused his dizzy gaze on the woman in front of him. He frowned, looking down at his hands and again noticing that he was somehow Graham Humbert again, but before he had time to react, Emma’s voice startled him.

“How dare you!” She screamed, stepping into his space and slapping Graham across the face so hard that he was temporarily disorientated.

“Oh bloody hell, love,” Killian blinked, grabbing the side of Graham’s face and rubbing the burning sensation away.

“Killian?” Emma froze again, eyes wide, her voice turning childlike and quivering on the verge of tears.

Killian stood back up straight, letting his hand slip from the side of Graham’s face slowly. His breathing quickened and his lips twitched up into an excited smile. “Aye, Emma,” he smiled wider. “It’s me.”

Elation flooded through Emma and she couldn’t stop herself when she jumped into Graham’s arms. Killian wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly for the first time in what felt like forever. Emma pinched her eyes closed and began to cry, all of her anger gone and only the desperate need to feel Killian again crossing her mind.

“Wha...You….How?” Emma stuttered, pulling back to look at the face of Graham Humbert in confusion. She grabbed his face, tiptoeing so she could plant kisses all over his face in quick succession, desperate to feel every inch of skin her lips could touch. She knew it was Killian inside but it didn’t stop it feeling a little weird that she was feeling up a co-worker.

“I’m not sure,” Killian laughed, his British accent thicker than before. “Maybe Humbert is a vessel for the undead or something,” he joked, carding his fingers through her hair.

“He is super sensitive,” Emma joked with a choked laugh, unable to take her hands from Graham’s face.

“So it seems,” Killian agreed, wiping away the slight tear that had formed on Graham’s lower eyelids.

“Is he…?” Emma paused, gulping as she looked up at Killian, unable to say the words.

“Dead?” Killian laughed. “No,” he shook his head quickly and raised an eyebrow playfully. “He’s in here with me. I can feel him trying to get back to the surface.” He looked a little irritated for a second before offering her a warm smile. “I’m stronger this time,” he smirked. Time in the Nether had given him the ability to influence and it seemed Graham was, yet again, the poor soul who had to share his body with Killian’s spirit.

“Was...Was that you before?” Emma said softly, her voice tentative and shy. “The first time Graham came here,” She clarified as she ran her hands down Graham’s neck and over the hardness of his chest.

“Aye,” Killian beamed, stroking the hair from her face and smoothing Graham’s fingertips over the patch of skin behind Emma’s ear he knew drove her wild.

Emma sighed relieved and let her head fall forward to rest on Graham’s chest. “I thought I was going insane,” she breathed.

“Oh, Emma, I’m so sorry,” Killian wrapped Graham’s arms around her and felt her fingers dig into the fabric of Graham’s shirt, clutching it over his heart. “I was at the station and fell into Graham, literally, and my first thought was to come to you.”

“I wondered why Humbert was asking for coffee,” she laughed, lifting her head to smile at him.

“Ah, yes, well…” Killian began, the Irish tones of Graham’s accent slipping through and mixing with his British again. “...When I got here, I wasn’t sure how to show you it was me.”

“I think you did a pretty good job,” Emma smoothed her hand over Graham’s cheeks again and stared into the blue abyss of his eyes. Graham and Killian both had blue eyes, and nobody would really tell the difference, except Emma would know the light behind Killian’s eyes anywhere.

“I didn’t want to scare you,” Killian soothed, letting Graham’s hand rest on the curve of her hip. “I just wanted you to question the possibility.”

“Your eyes,” Emma said lovingly, running her thumb under Graham’s eyelids tenderly.

Killian frowned and a smile twitched across Graham’s face. “My eyes?”

Emma nodded. “I’d know them anywhere, at any time, under any circumstances,” she swallowed, her fingers threading through the lightly curled hair on the back of Graham’s head. “I knew it was you.”

Killian couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward and planting Graham’s lips to hers, the soft warmth of her mouth etching itself into his subconscious. Emma pushed forward, holding his face to hers and parting her lips to invite Graham’s tongue to dance with her own. It was odd; He kissed like Killian, with the same love and caress, but he lacked the distinct hint of coffee that she had come to love so much. When they couldn’t breathe anymore, Killian reluctantly pulled his lips from hers and let his eyes flutter open.

“Where are you?” Emma asked quickly, running her shaking fingers over Graham’s forehead.

“I’m between planes,” Killian said quickly, cupping her face in his hands. “I don’t know how long I have, so I need you to listen to me.”

Emma nodded desperately and Killian brushed a tear away from her cheek with Graham’s thumb. “Graham is right,” he said softly and Emma’s heart dropped, her smile fading. “Liam was killed because he believed Gold responsible for our parent’s murder. When he died, I took up the mantle, and I was close to proving it too…”

“...So Gold had you killed?” Emma’s lip quivered saying the words out loud.

“I’m not gone,” he smiled at her, dipping his head so they were eye level. Emma stared into Graham’s eyes intently, seeing right past Graham’s blue hues and straight into Killian’s soul. “And we were not dirty,” he assured her. “Humbert is a good detective. He’s just confusing the information he has.”

“So, how do I help him?” Emma sniffed, clutching the hands on the side of her face.

Killian’s gaze dropped between them and he plucked the necklace charm from where it hung around Emma’s neck. It was his, he had never taken it off since his brother had given it to him, and so when Liam was killed, he had turned it into a hiding place. Killian picked up the little sword charm, pinching the pommel and grip between his fingers and pulling it from the blade to reveal a hidden key.

“A key!” Emma’s head snapped towards his once more and he smiled at her.

“This opens a safety deposit box at the bank. Only you and I have access with this key,” he pushed the key back into its hiding place and let it rest against her skin once more. “Inside are some files and the last pieces of information I uncovered before I died,” he said hurriedly, smoothing his hands up the side of Emma’s arms. “Find them, give them to Graham. He’ll have all the information he needs to put the pieces together.”

Emma nodded and grabbed onto Graham’s shirt, pulling his body towards hers until her forehead was resting against his. She couldn’t quite believe she was talking to Killian, and even if it was through another person, it felt like him. “I miss you,” she whispered against his face, rubbing the side of his nose with hers.

Kilian tucked some of her hair behind her ears and ran his thumb over her chin, a sensation inducing action so unique to him that any doubt Emma might have still had disappeared instantly. “I miss you too,” Killian breathed. “I have three days left, Emma. You have to hurry.”

“I promise,” She sobbed, clutching the back of his neck.

“Please don’t cry anymore, Swan,” Killian pleaded, letting his hand fall to her stomach. “You have to be strong for our baby.”

“You know,” Emma gasped. It wasn’t a question.

“Of course I know,” Killian chuckled weakly. “I have been haunting you for a few days, you know.”

Emma narrowed her eyes and smiled. “I knew that was you with the damn alarm,” she slapped his chest playfully as he pretended to duck her assault.

“I’m sorry, but last time I possessed this damn body I thought I was going to send you to an asylum,” Killian looked down at Graham’s body with disgust, sucking a breath through his teeth. “Did you know Humbert hasn’t a single ounce of body hair?” Killian teased and Emma laughed, his arms holding her to him as she threw her head back.

Killian watched her laugh and his heart broke for what he had to do next. “Emma, I have to go,” He said sadly, helping her right herself again.

“Please stay,” Emma pleaded, her broken infantile voice laced with her sobbing once again. Emma grabbed Graham’s hand and flattened it over her stomach once more, lacing her warm fingers through his cooler ones, palming his cheek with her other hand.

Killian leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers, his cool lips on her swollen, warm mouth, the last memento of his love. And his promise to return to her. As they kissed Killian felt Emma’s grip on his hand slip and Graham’s hand returned to his side. When Killian broke the kiss and he opened his eyes again, he was outside of Graham again and Emma was clutching the necklace around her neck as she pulled back her hand and slapped Graham once more.

“Ow, what was that for?” Graham demanded confused, rubbing his cheek that felt much too tingly for just the one single strike.

“I’m going to get dressed. Wait here and then I have something to show you.”


	11. Chapter 11

Graham wasn’t quite sure how Emma had persuaded him to escort her to the bank. She had made very little sense, ranting about some files that Liam had on Gold and how Killian had hidden them away on his brother's death. Graham considered himself a good detective, and although still very green, he would like to think that if a colleague was undertaking some off the books investigation, he would have noticed.

Apparently not.

Emma had continued to try and convince him on the way to the bank, her eagerness to get there making her words tumble from her mouth in quick succession, her hands flailing wildly as she tried to explain. Everybody knew about the Jones murder. How could they not? A cold case where two boys were left orphaned, their lives taking them in exactly the same direction where they became cops and fought for justice in the world.

Now that Graham thought about it, the fact that both Jones brothers had been so eager to not mention their parent’s cold case should have been a red flag.

He wouldn’t have been able to do anything about Liam because he was still a beat cop when Liam was alive, but he knew them both through Emma. Graham had met Emma at the policy training academy and they had become good friends as they completed their training, even going as far as renting an apartment together. Both of them were as competitive as the other, and so they bounced off of each other constantly, using their entire training as a way to prove who was better once and for all.

As it turned out, Emma was slightly better. She always got better scores, was always faster and more adept at combat, and she had been promoted long before Graham to the role of detective. Emma had a rough start in her own life, and Graham always wondered if that was what had given her the inspiration to succeed. Failure was not in Emma Swan’s vocabulary. And when she was promoted, that was when she had met Killian Jones.

The younger Jones brother was a detective like his big brother, both of them working out of the same precinct. He was a few years older than Emma and when she had been given the paperwork explaining that she was to report to Det. Jones the next day, she had sat up all evening the night before, unloading all of her worries onto her friend. What if he was mean? She had heard stories. What if she wasn’t good enough to be a detective? What if all she was destined for what writing parking tickets and arresting drunkards from fast food restaurants?

Graham had not minded one bit, having loved Emma for as long as he had known her, but never quite having the courage to ask her if his feelings were reciprocated. He had told her that she was perfect, a great cop and she would make an even better detective. He knew it. She had passed the detective’s exam with top scores, could chase down a perp until they were out of breath before she was and could empty an entire clip into a center mass bullseyes leaving minimal spacing between bullet holes. He had meant every word and wished he had the confidence to kiss her.

As it turned out, all of his own worries were alleviated that night when, under the influence of a few glasses of red wine, Emma had in no uncertain terms told him that he was a great friend and she was glad that’s all they were. Uninhibited by her alcohol, Emma had told him that whilst he was absolutely gorgeous, he didn’t make her tingle. Graham hadn’t really understood what she had meant by that until the next evening when she had returned home, a grin plastered on her face and a spring in her step.

Like an arrow to his heart, Emma had told him that her new partner, Killian Jones, made her tingle.

The last three years had been much of a blur. He and Emma were still friends, but they had drifted apart a little. After a year of dating Killian, she had decided to move out of the apartment. Graham was supportive, helping them move with his truck and even carrying boxes into their brand new home, but he couldn’t help but wonder if everything was moving so fast for them. They had only been dating a year after all, and Graham knew Emma well enough to know that she didn’t normally rush into anything so headstrong.

Two years into their relationship, Graham was surprised they were still together. They were happy, keeping a professionalism at work that gave no indication into their private lives, but Graham couldn’t help but hope that he would be the shoulder Emma cried on when Killian finally broke her heart. Graham had heard stories of the Jones brothers, like pirates, plundering their way through the women in the precinct and despite Emma’s assurances, he hoped that the rumors were true. He had hated himself for being such a bad friend, a jealous friend, who secretly wished for the destruction of his friend’s happiness so he could muscle into her life and make it all better.

And then he had felt even worse when Liam Jones, Killian’s older brother, had been murdered whilst on duty, the case still laying cold and unsolved. He had comforted Killian, stood at his shoulder whilst he had saluted his fallen brother at a funeral full of honors. He had comforted Emma and joined the rest of the precinct in heading to the local bar to commemorate their fallen colleague, but that was when his life had taken a darker turn.

Years of pent up, unrequited love for his friend, fuelled by far too many whiskeys, had ended with him opening his mouth to tell Emma how he really felt. She had slapped him, he remembered it like it was yesterday, the sting on his cheek almost as painful as the stab to his heart. What had made his situation worse was the fact that, at Liam Jones’ wake, he had told her how Killian was no good for her. That had earned him a little more than a slap and he and Killian had to be dragged apart as they brawled, emotions raging, and Emma stepping between them and unleashing a tirade of profanity his way that he absolutely deserved.

From then on, their relationship had been strained. They only really interacted at work and as if anyone needed any more proof as to how perfect Killian was, he had walked up to Graham one day and shook his hand, telling him that despite what was going on between them, Emma didn’t have to lose her friend because of it. Graham hated Killian for his chivalry but hated himself even more.

  
“Emma, slow down!” Graham pleaded, narrowly avoiding traffic and offering the annoyed driver an apologetic smile as he struggled to keep up with her across the busy street. Emma had just been missed by the car and it had skidded to a stop just as Graham had tried to follow her, cutting him off from his pursuit.

Emma strode confidently forward, ignoring the honks and shouts from motorists as she stepped out into the traffic again. She clutched at the charm around her neck, letting the metal dig into her palm as she determinedly headed towards the bank, heeled boots scuffing the ground on every step.

“You know, I could write you up for jay-walking,” Graham panted, finally catching up to her across another lane.

“Go for it,” Emma huffed, her hair whipping behind her as she reached the curb and looked up at the bank. The building was huge, mammoth, the largest building on the block, and reminded Emma of a courthouse with large white stone columns at the top of round edge stone steps.

“Don’t be annoyed,” Graham implored, clutching his sides as he fought to catch his breath. It seemed Emma was still fitter than he was.

“I’m not,” Emma shrugged, not looking back at him. “Why would I be? I told my friend that I could help solve the murder of my boyfriend, possibly the murders of three other people, and he laughed it off.”

“I didn’t laugh…” Graham began but Emma spun to face him and cut him off.

“You laughed,” Emma jabbed her finger into his shoulder, pushing harder than she needed to. “I told you Killian was still with me and you laughed.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Graham relented, holding out one hand in defense while he rubbed at his shoulder with the other. “But look at it from my perspective, Emma,” Graham stepped towards her. “Listen to yourself.”

“You don’t believe me,” Emma said, hurt lacing her words.

“Emma, you told me the spirit of your dead boyfriend has possessed my body and was telling you how to solve his murder.” Graham looked at her, the words sounding even more irrational coming out of his mouth.

“I know it sounds crazy,” Emma said gruffly, rubbing her hand over her forehead.

“Crazy doesn’t cover it,” Graham sighed, resting his hands on his hips and licking his lips. “It sounds…”

“Don’t you think I know how it sounds?” Emma snapped. “But how else do you explain your lost time? The deja vu?”

Graham paused, considering her words with a frown. He had lost time, twice, and both times he had found himself inexplicably in Emma’s kitchen.

“Plus, you’d remember kissing me, right?” Emma prodded him, grabbing his attention.

“We kissed?” Graham sounded shocked and Emma nodded.

“And you would have remembered that, right Humbert?” She grinned at him and his features paled. “It’s like, the one thing you have always wanted, if I remember Liam’s wake correctly.”

“Not my finest hour,” Graham admitted dryly. “But yes, I would have remembered that.”

“And you would have definitely remembered kissing me more than twice, right? Taking me in your arms and holding me?” Emma told him.

“God, Emma, you’re killing me here,” Graham laughed nervously, shaking his head and looking back down to his feet as she relayed the information to him that he had done these things and the reason he couldn’t remember was that it wasn’t actually him.

“Which reminds me…” Emma said finally and Graham looked up at her again, his soft, curled hair falling over his forehead. “..When the hell did you start manscaping?”

Laughter erupted between them and Graham’s face flushed hot with pink. He wasn’t sure exactly how Emma would have known that, but it was true. In an attempt to make himself more appealing to the ladies, and try and forget about Emma, he had begun to shave his chest and body hair. And it had worked. If only sleeping with other women could make him stop thinking about Emma.

“How did you…?” Graham eyed her suspiciously.

“Killian,” She said simply. “Believe me now? This isn’t just grief,” Emma told him more seriously. “I know you and Killian didn’t always see eye to eye, but I am asking you to trust me, as my friend.”

“Is that what I am?” Graham narrowed his eyes.

“Of course you are,” Emma said firmly and his cheeks began to flush as he looked down at his shoes. “And I’m sorry if you ever thought of us as anything more.”

Graham looked up at her and inhaled hard, his body finally catching its breath and fulling inflating his lungs to satisfaction. He stared at her for a second and didn’t know how to respond. She could have blamed him, told him that it wasn’t her fault that she never loved him back, but she hadn’t. She could have said so many things, but she apologised, and Graham felt the desperation in her voice hit him like a truck.

“I’m sorry too,” He smiled. “For what happened. I put my feelings and jealousy above our friendship and it was selfish.”

“Yes, it was,” Emma nodded, crossing her arms.

“And I was a total arse,” Graham smirked at her, her stance and expression a reminder of the Emma Swan he had once known so well.

“Yes, you were,” Emma agreed.

“Alright, alright,” Graham rolled his eyes and waved her forward, following her as she began to ascend the steps to the bank. “Let’s see what’s in the box.”

  
After having to flash his badge more than once at some of the bank staff, Graham and Emma were led through a back room by the manager. The room they had ended up in was lined floor to ceiling with tiny, envelope sized slots, each one numbered with a tiny polished brass plate with a number etched into its surface. There was a huge table in the middle of the room and the bank manager offered them a seat with a gesture of his hand.

“Mrs. Jones,” he smiled but it was forced, a mixture of pity and sorrow.

Graham looked at Emma with a quizzical look, but she ignored him and nodded. “That’s right,” she agreed, clasping the charm around her neck even harder.

“Your husband left us very strict instructions with this box,” he told her matter of factly, moving around the room as he spoke. “I was only to give you access if…”

“...If he died,” she finished for him and he let out a thankful sigh at not having to have to say the words.

“Exactly,” he nodded, thrusting his key into the numbered box on the wall and turning it with a click. Graham watched him slide the long, metal box from its crevice and carry it to the table. The manager slid it down onto the surface, its weight causing it to almost fall from his hands as he did so. “I trust you have the key already?”

Emma nodded. “Thank you.”

“Then I will leave you to it,” he nodded at Graham, a little nervous as to why the police were present at all. “If you need anything, I’ll be in my office. The door will lock when I leave, but you can leave at any time from the inside.”

“We’ll be fine,” Graham told him with a fake smile and irritation in his voice and with that, he was gone, the door sliding closed with a soft click and locking itself with a sliding sound.

Emma ran her hands over the edges of the box, the metal cold under her fingertips. She was nervous. She knew what was inside, but she wasn’t sure if she was prepared to know the why behind Killian’s murder.

“Number thirteen? Are you kidding me?” Graham laughed as he read the number on the box. “If only Killian knew he would be sending us here from beyond the grave.”

Emma ignored his words, hands resting on the box in front of her with a pale stare.

“Emma, are you okay?” Graham asked with a cocked head and a frown.

“Hmm?” Emma hummed, looking at him quickly. “Oh yeah. It’s just…” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth and Graham put his hand over hers, tracing her knuckles with his thumb.

“You don’t have to be here,” he offered her an out. “I can open it if you’d like.”

“It’s just…” She said again, taking a deep breath. “...I didn’t know.”

“I know,” Graham said softly, grabbing the chair beside her and sinking down into the seat silently. The room was so quiet there was a distant hum in the air that rang in their ears. “Killian would have told you about this if he thought you’d be safe, you know that.”

Emma nodded, quickly wiping the tear that had rolled down her cheek. Graham was right. Everything Killian had ever done was with her best interests in mind and he had made sure she was safe from Gold by never telling her about this box. It made Emma turn cold, knowing that whatever was inside had actually got not one, but two Jones’ killed. She took one last deep breath and fiddled with the necklace around her neck, pulling the sword from its sheath and exposing the key.

“Huh, look at that,” Graham smirked, impressed. The tiny key slid from the charm effortlessly and the only way you would realise it was a key was the tiny teeth along one edge and the number thirteen etched into the blade in black lettering. “Jones, you sneaky son of a bitch.”

“Ready?” Emma asked, sliding the key into the keyhole and looking at Graham. “This might put you in danger, Graham. You can still leave if you want to.”

“No going back now,” Graham smiled weakly.

Emma blew out a breath and turned the key, the mechanism springing open and the lid popping loose.


	12. Chapter 12

“This is time sensitive,” Emma told Graham with a serious glance. They were seated back in her kitchen, the files from Killian’s safety deposit box spread out all around them. Killian had eagerly awaited their arrival by pacing around the ethereal world he was trapped in, using all of his energy to practice throwing things off the table, or moving cutlery along the sideboard in the kitchen.

“ _Aye, that it is…_ ” he agreed with a nod that neither of them could see, his ghostly figure standing against the wall with folded arms, the table pushed against the wall passing right through his body where he stood.

Graham had a pensive expression, fingers toying with a patch of stubble below his bottom lip as his eyes scanned the paperwork in front of him. They had uncovered a plethora of dog eared pages, mostly photocopies of files that both Emma and Graham recognised would never have been allowed to leave the precinct, and they all seemed to indicate a larger plot involving Gold.

“This is big,” he said with a gasp, eyes widening.

Killian pushed himself from the wall and moved through the solid surface, leaning over Graham’s shoulder to see what he had seen.

“And time sensitive,” Emma repeated urgently, rearranging herself in the chair so that she was sitting on her crossed legs, leaning forward over the files. “Killian has less than three days left.”

“ _And I don’t much fancy getting stuck in the Nether,_ ” he grumbled, slightly irritated nobody could hear him.

Graham reached out and plucked a page from the pile before him, a mugshot of a young Jefferson staring back at him, the illegible scrawl over the page telling him it was a very old arrest warrant. “Liam and Killian have been very busy.”

Both Emma and Killian frowned. “How do you mean?” Emma asked, spying the page in his hand and taking it from him without permission. Half of the information for Jefferson’s arrest was missing, either erased or simply left out. Emma frowned, scanning over the lack of information on the page, the headshot of a rather young looking Jefferson neatly secured to the bottom of the page.

“That is an arrest warrant for the Jones case,” Graham said, sitting back in his chair and pointing to the page in her hand. He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest and sighed.

“Liam or Killian?” Emma asked, scanning the page. If the name of the murdered party was on the page, she wasn’t seeing it.

“Brennan and Saoirse’s,” Graham said sadly.

Emma’s head snapped up form the page and she looked at Graham wide eyed in disbelief. “Jefferson killed Killian’s parents?” She choked on the words, a lump catching in her throat. Emma felt her heart break. Neither Killian or Liam ever spoke of their parents and now she knew why.

“ _Aye…_ ” Killian said sadly, moving to stand next to Emma. He had known since he had acquired Liam’s notes, but he had never told Emma. Regardless of the hurt associated with finding out who killed your parents, if this information had got Liam killed, the less Emma knew the better.

“And according to Liam’s notes,” Graham shuffled a few pages aside, finding a page he had previously found relevant. “He did it for Gold. Seems he was released on a technicality.”

_“Gold paid off some dirty cops to look the other way more like…”_

“Oh baby…” Emma sighed to herself, the familiar chill creeping up her spine that she knew was Killian standing behind her. “But why?”

Graham passed her the piece of paper and shrugged. “I haven’t worked that part out yet.”

Emma took the crinkled, dog eared paper from Graham and laid it down in front of her. Jefferson looked so young and Emma wondered when he had been corrupted, and how.

“It has to be in these notes somewhere,” Graham said, shuffling a nearby pile around.

Emma gasped when she felt a cold hand skim across her stomach, looking down at her lap where there was nothing. She had only felt traces of Killian up until now, the faintest of breezes and feelings, but now she felt his very cold, very real palm pressed to her belly and she held her breath.

“ _He has a daughter…_ ” Killian whispered and Emma shuddered, her eyes fluttering closed and the hair on the back of her neck standing on end as Killian’s words echoed in her ears.

“His daughter,” Emma whispered, peeling her eyes open, her dazed expression meeting Graham’s. He looked at her confused, his brows knitting together. “He has a daughter,” Emma cleared her throat, shaking her hair over her shoulders. “Gold is obviously using her as leverage.”

Graham swallowed. Emma’s statement made him no better than Gold. Even though his threat was harmless in comparison, and no harm would ever befall the girl at his hands, Graham felt a pang of guilt invade his soul. If Gold had been manipulating Jefferson for years, maybe decades, no wonder the guy was losing his mind.

“This can’t just be about his daughter,” Graham scoffed, finding a photo of the young girl. She was pretty, cherub cheeked with silky blonde hair plaited in a french braid, her huge smile grinning at the camera. Graham handed Emma the photo of Grace and shook his head. “She wouldn’t have been born back then.”

“You’re right,” Emma said, taking the photo and skimming her fingertips over the child’s face. Emma’s lips twitched into a weak smile and she instinctively clutched at the shirt covering her stomach. “But maybe that’s why he killed Killian? Maybe Gold threatened his daughter?”

_“Aye, love, bloody brilliant!”_

Emma gasped again, jumping forward on her chair and nearly toppling off when Killian’s voice took her by surprise. What felt like a rush of ice surged through her, starting at her womb and radiating outwards, and when she had settled upright again, Emma groaned. Graham reached out his arm, steadying her and helping her back onto the seat.

“Are you okay?” He frowned, confused, his hand hovering over her shoulder in case she fell again.

Emma rolled her eyes and let out a frustrated sigh. “Could you warn me next time you are going to get so excited?” She called out into the room.

_“Sorry, my love...”_

Graham narrowed his eyes when no answer came. “Killian,” she told him simply, refocusing back on the paperwork in front of her.

“He’s here?” Graham licked his lips nervously, refocusing his own attention on the page in front of him, not actually reading the words.

 _“I am always here,_ ” Killian growled at Graham, his fingers flexing over Emma’s stomach. Her lips twitched into a smile that she tried to hide but Graham noticed.

“What did he say?” Graham asked, looking around the room with a worried glance. Emma may have warmed up to the fact that her boyfriend was haunting the house, but it made him nervous.

“He said he is always here,” Emma smirked.

 _“Watching…”_ Killian huffed.

“Okay, easy tiger,” Emma laughed lightly to herself as the words invaded her mind again.

“Maybe I should leave you two alone,” Graham suggested awkwardly.

“Oh come on, Humbert,” Emma teased. “You boys can play nice, right?”

Graham’s gaze roamed around the kitchen, but he saw nothing. There was nothing quite as disturbing as knowing somebody you couldn’t see was right next to you. Watching you.

 _“Maybe I should possess him again…_ ” Killian teased, a smile playing across his face.

“Don’t,” Emma stifled her giggle and Graham shot her a paranoid glance.

“Now what did he say?” He asked, irritated.

“He said, maybe he should possess you again.”

Graham shuffled his chair back, eager to get away from Emma and Killian who was clearly near enough to her that she could hear him. He scrambled backwards until his back hit the sink and a light brown folder toppled to the floor between them, the edges folded into a strange angle from being stored underneath something much heavier at some point.

“Tell him to stay away from my body!” Graham shouted around the room, unsure if he was about to be taken over or not, the fear making his heart beat faster and the blood in his ears pump louder.

 _“With pleasure,_ ” Killian grumbled, staying at Emma’s side. _“Ungodly smooth is not my preferred grooming regime.”_

“Guys!” Emma shouted, silencing them both when she slapped her hands down on the surface of the table loudly. The thump shook Killian back, his hands slipping from her body and made Graham look up at her in shock.

“I’m sorry...It’s just…” Graham begun, trying to explain how he was so scared with a more manly voice.

“No, Graham, look!” Emma said quickly, rising from her own seat and kneeling next to the fallen papers. Graham frowned, cocked his head to the side and knelt with her, shooting one last glance over her shoulder before he committed to the vulnerable position. “Do you see what I see?” Emma asked excitedly, smoothing her hand over one of the pages, flattening out the corner. She repeated the action with the next page. And then the next. And then another, until a pattern of dots and dashes started to emerge between the pieces of paper.

“Is it a code?” Graham titled his head at the dots, each scribbled onto the corner of the pages in black ink but hidden from view by the fold. “Do you think it means something?”

 _“Of course it means something!”_ Killian snapped, watching them fiddle with the papers. He recognised the code instantly as the reverse morse code he and Liam used to use to communicate in secrets as kids back in England. Their father had taught them morse code and when their parents had died, they were shipped back to England to live with a distant relative, so they had invented a secret reverse version of Morse code in order to keep their conversations from their caretakers. _“Liam, you glorious bastard!”_ Killian yelped, almost skidding across the papers as he fell to his knees beside Emma.

Emma welcomed the gasp and chill across her skin once more, looking sideways to where Killian would have been had he been a solid form. She held his hand to her and waited, knowing he was trying to tell her something.

_“It’s a code, Swan,” Killian said excitedly. “And I know exactly how to crack it!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Killian's mother is called Saoirse which is pronounced "Seer-sha"


	13. Chapter 13

Emma had to hand it to Liam, even if she had only known him for a short while, he was exceedingly clever.  The code was one that he knew only his brother could break, never risking it falling into the hands of anybody else.  A pang of sadness had hit Emma as she took notes of the dots and dashes, realising just how engrossed in catching his parents’ killer Liam actually had been.  He had been in so deep, living a life behind what the world saw and it explained why he had never had a serious relationship or was social with anyone except his brother.

Graham had long since left the house, a mixture of tiredness and unsettledness overcoming him when Emma sat across from him, mainly talking with herself, but hastily scribbling notes.  The pages had been scrambled but they had managed to work out that they needed to be in reverse order for the code to work.  Killian had told them that much through Emma, and it gave them a good starting point to work out the rest.

Killian had, through constant contact with Emma’s belly, managed to tell them about the time they were kids when he and Liam were sent to live with distant relatives in England.  Newly orphaned, the boys were living with the family that they had never met before and it was clear from the way they were treated, that the family didn’t want them.  They took them in under obligation and the promise of an inheritance from Brennan’s estate, only the money never came and the brothers suffered for it.

In order to keep themselves sane, and to stop their communication from falling into the wrong hands and possibly earning them more abuse, Liam had devised a code.  It was a secret code, their form of communication, and to the casual observer, it would seem to be Morse Code.  Liam had always loved reading about the Navy and wanted to one day join, but at the time he was young, with a bleak outlook, so his imagination was all he had.  He devised an entire language for them, reversing the standard Morse Code and scrambling the messages into anagrams, just to make sure nobody but Killian would understand them.

Once Liam had taught Killian, it seemed they had suddenly become bilingual, talking in their own hidden language that Killian could still read as clear as day.  Emma had assured Graham she wouldn’t rest until they had worked out what the code meant so when he had departed for the evening, she retired to the bedroom with her notes.

It had also become very apparent as the evening had progressed, that Emma now believed so firmly in Killian being with her that he no longer needed to be touching her for her to hear him.  Just being close to her was enough and when Emma had shuffled her legs under the comforter, sitting crossed legged with her notepad resting on her knee, all Killian had to do was mirror her position on the bed in front of her for her to hear him.

“So it’s like Morse Code?” Emma asked excitedly, narrowing her eyes at the dots and dashes on her page.

“Yes!” Killian exclaimed, shuffling his body forward and watching Emma go wide eyed at the movement of the duvet.  “Except it’s reversed,” Killian nodded to the page.  

“So reversed like the words or the dits and dahs?” Emma smirked, poking her tongue out playfully.

Killian matched her smirked and made a noise deep in his throat.  “Dits and dahs?” He quirked his eyebrow and was a little disappointed when Emma didn’t respond.

“Oh, you know,” Emma shrugged.  “I may have been doing a little research.”

“Into Naval Morse Code?” Killian frowned suspiciously.  

“Your interests are my interests,” She beamed at nobody, watching the ripple in the covers shift again.

“Well, maybe we should get that boat,” Killian teased.  “So you can put your research into practice.”  They had been toying with the idea for a while, but Emma had always assumed he was joking, especially when he had declared the vessel would be known as The Jolly Roger and she was to refer to him whilst onboard as Captain.  She knew Killian had inherited his love of the ocean and ships from his brother, and while neither of them made it into the Navy, they had always dreamed of becoming sailors.

Emma rolled her eyes.  “At ease, Captain,” she looked back down to the page in front of her, trying to force the grin from her face but failing when the corners of her mouth twitched into a telling smile.

“As you wish,” Killian purred.

“So, it’s reversed,” Emma tapped her pen to the notepad and looked up again.  “Anything else?”

Killian nodded but quickly remembered she couldn’t see him.  “Aye, it’s also anagrammed.”

“Are you kidding me?” Emma huffed, falling back against the pillows with an oomph.  She exhaled hard and rubbed the side of her temples.  “And Liam made this up?”

“Aye,” Killian chuckled, watching her frustration.  Emma hadn’t known Liam for as long as he had, so her brief time with the second Jones brother obviously gave her no indication of his abilities to create and master any code.  “He was a genius.”

“Clearly,” Emma puffed, a strand of hair that had fallen over her brow flying upwards with her sigh.

“He wanted to captain a ship in the Navy,” Killian told her proudly.  “He spent so long trying to master everything he would need from a young age.”

“And he got into codes,” Emma finished Killian’s story with a roll of her eyes.  He always was one with a flair for the dramatic, including telling a story he really had no time to tell.  “So we work out the anagrams, then the words?”

“Aye,” Killian nodded again with his words, his voice a little unsure.  If Liam really did not want anyone to find this code but him, this wasn’t going to be easy.

It was well into the early hours of the morning before they had really put a dent in Liam’s code.  Working out the letters was easy.  Killian remembered it like it was yesterday and they were boys back in England, reversing the dots and dashes so that the words made sense.  Of sorts.  Killian distinctly remembered that when they were boys, with him being younger, Liam had taken pity on him and made the codes much easier to crack.

Liam must have been more lenient because as they sat in the dimly lit warmth of their bedroom, the small piles of paper in between them seemed to be much more daunting than they had first anticipated.  Each pile was a single phrase, that much they had worked out, but solving the anagrams with little in the way of clues was proving more difficult.

“So, let’s try this again…” Killian began, watching Emma stifle yet another yawn and blink away the watery haze in her reddened eyes.  “What did the first one say again?”

Emma blinked hard and pinched the bridge of her nose, wiping away at her eyes before reaching for her glasses.  She pushed the black rimmed frames up her nose and they immediately started to slide back down from the weight of the lenses, her nose wrinkling to catch them.  Killian smiled, watching her with a warmth in his chest he had missed feeling.

“hpme cbs ebe sfdsvju ljmmjbo - Shift by the brother,” Emma sighed, the words sounded just as ridiculous in a sentence now as when they had started.

“And the second?” Killian prompted.

“Umm…” Emma scanned her page again, tapping her pen down the curling edge.  “fcf iqnf ngcxg dqau - Shift by the sons.”

“I think they are instructions,” Killian said with a frown that Emma couldn’t see.  He tapped his finger to his lips and hummed to himself.

“To what?” Emma’s own brow knitted in confusion and she pushed the glasses up her nose again.

“To solving the messages,” Killian laughed a little when Emma huffed and headbutted the notepad in her hand.  “I think it's something called the shifted alphabet.”

“Are you kidding? You’re telling me Liam created a message, turned it into an anagram, then reverse morse code and then, after all that, he encoded it with a cipher?”  Emma nearly ran out of breath, gasping after her final word as her lungs emptied.

“Aye,” Killian giggled.  “But the anagram is probably redundant,” he beamed, much more confident than a few moments ago.  “Liam used to encode the messages to me in shifted alphabet in case I was unable to solve the anagram.”

Emma looked down to the slightly smudged writing once more and drew a thick, black line under the nonsensical letters in front of her.  “So, this mess of random letters is the original code but in a shifted alphabet pattern?”

“Aye, love, that’s it.”

“So why bother with the anagram!” Emma screeched.

Killian chuckled and rocked back, uncrossing his legs and shuffling forward towards her.  “A diversion,” he grinned, eyes flicking over the page on her lap.  It was just like Liam to create a decoy message, something that would send would be code crackers off in the wrong direction.  It was how they fooled their caregivers back in England and Liam had clearly hoped Killian would recognise his ruse.  “We just have to work out the number of times each message was shifted using the clues he provided.”

“The non anagrammed messages….” Emma clarified.

“Aye, what was that first one again?” Killian asked eagerly, his eagerness to solve this puzzle and get home to his family more prevalent than ever now that he felt they were actually getting somewhere.

“hpme cbs ebe sfdsvju ljmmjbo - Shift by the brother,” Emma yawned again, her eyes screwing closed behind her fingerprint covered glasses.

“Well, I’m the brother,” Killian scratched his scuff littered jaw.

“But it has to be a number, right?” Emma reminded him, half a statement, half a question.  She knew far less about this sort of thing than Killian, but damn if she wasn’t going to learn after this.

“Of course,” Killian agreed, shaking his head.  “It’s one.  I am his brother, of which he only has one.  It’s shifted by one.”  Killian grinned excitedly.  “If you take the jumbled letters and turn them into the previous one, it decodes them, so what does it say now?”

Emma’s pen went to work on the page, the almost silent, smooth sound of the pen filling her ears as it marked the page.  Killian watched her intently, smiling at the way her tongue poked out when she was thinking and the way she tucked her hair behind her ears so it didn’t obscure her view.  She was a vision, even in her sorrow, and he almost forgot himself as he reached for her face, quickly retracting his see through hand when he noticed and remembered his current state.

“Oh,” Emma said sadly, sitting back a little and lifting her head once more.

“Oh?” Killian repeated her words.  “Swan, what does it say?”

“Gold bar dad recruit Killian.”  Emma looked as though a light bulb had gone off in her head, the sudden realisation of the random words hitting her.  “Your dad owned a bar, right?”  Emma shuffled through some more of the papers in beside her, finding what she wanted and holding the deeds aloft so Killian could see.  “Did Gold go there?”

“Not that I remember,” Killian shrugged.  “You said the second one said ‘shift by the sons’, right?”

“Yeah,” Emma scrambled over her notes again.  “fcf iqnf ngcxg dqau - shift by the sons.”

“Well, my father had two sons,” Killian oozed confidence in his words.  “Shift that one by two.”

Again Emma set to work, quicker this time having got the hang of it already.  “Ok, that one says ‘dad gold leave boys’.  What does that mean?  Killian this doesn’t make sense!” Emma growled, throwing her notes aside and crossing her arms.  “We are getting nowhere!”

No, no,” Killian soothed.  “We are!  Liam always told me that Gold tried to get him to do things for him.  Illegal things.  Maybe he tried with both of us and my father found out.”

“That’s a reach,” Emma sighed.

“Please, Emma, just keep an open mind here.  I’m trying.”

A silence fell between them as Emma picked up the notepad once more.  She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and tilting her head back, stretching her neck muscles as she did so.  Killian watched, helpless to comfort her.  He knew she was hurting, her frustration evident through every fiber of her body. Each cell in every muscle screaming out for the touch he couldn’t provide.

“Emma?” He called softly, watching her look up but then the sadness invaded her features for the umpteenth time that night.  It seemed hearing his voice but not being able to see Killian was really starting to affect Emma, and each time she smiled weakly in his direction, Killian felt his heart crack a little more.

“Hmm?” She hummed, resting the tip of her pen to the paper as her eyes flicked around the space in front of her.

“Just making sure you can still hear me,” he smiled, but she did not see him.

Emma’s eyes fluttered closed as if she was imagining Killian there with her.  “I can hear you,” she smiled, head rolling sideways so her head rested on her shoulder.  “We can hear you.”

Killian watched as Emma flattened her palm over her stomach, scrunching the material of the comforter in her hands and grinning from ear to ear.  The burst of anger he had witnessed moments ago was gone and Emma was calmed by the thoughts of the little one growing inside of her.

“You look happy, love,” Killian said softly.  “Radiant even.”

“Yeah right,” Emma scoffed playfully, rolling her eyes.  “I’ve been crying for days, my skin is blotchy and puffy and I’m sitting in my bed trying to decipher the notes of your dead brother with my spirit boyfriend.”  

Killian’s lips twitched into a knowing smile and he laughed a little, the sound sending a welcome shiver through Emma’s entire body.  “Well, you should see me, I am actually glowing,”  Killian laughed and looked down at her hands in front of him, the faintest white grey outline to his fingers blurring the area around them.  “It’s surreal.”

Emma’s laughter faded with his and she stared directly at where he would be sitting.  “This whole week has been just that,” she said, a more serious tone to her voice.  “I’m not sure I can handle much more.”  

A silence fell between them as they both inadvertently diverted their gaze from each other.  Killian lifted his hand and rubbed the skin behind his ear, extending his fingers around the back of his neck and roughly brushing the hair there.  At the same time, Emma sucked in a huge breath, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth and scribbling a doodle on the page in front of her.

“I’m sorry….” Killian whispered, bowing his head.

“I miss you…” Emma murmured at the same time, lifting her head and sucking in a huge breath.  “Killian!” She gasped.

“Yes, love?” Killian’s head snapped up to meet her gaze but the pale faced look of confusion on Emma’s face stopped him dead.  “Emma, what is it?”  he asked concerned, clenching his fists because he couldn’t comfort her.

“Killian…” Emma gasped, her breathing becoming rapid and irregular as she swallowed a hard lump that had formed in her throat.  “...I can see you.”


	14. Chapter 14

“Love, wait…” Killian called after Emma as her hair whipped through his visage. He was so close and yet so far away from her as she stomped determinedly across the parking lot of the precinct, his hand slipping through her arm as he tried to halt her. “Emma!”

Emma spun around and squinted at the sun as it shone straight through Killian and almost blinded her. Normally his bulk acted as a sufficient sunblock, but not in his current state. “This is it, Killian. The captain needs to see this!”

“And how are you going to explain this?” Killian gave her a sympathetic look. “How are you going to explain that you single handedly solved my murder whilst not even being at work?”

Emma was silent. He was right. She knew Graham would be in her corner, but all he could corroborate was where Emma had got the files from. How did she know where to find them? How did she find the key? Emma reached up and clutched at the sword charm that hung around her neck, letting the pointed tip dig into her palm with frustration.

“You see my point, love?” Killian smiled and his eyebrow jumped on his face.

“You’re right,” Emma huffed, clutching the files to her chest along with the notes they had worked so hard to decipher.

“You have to approach this differently,” Killian warned softly. “You can’t tell the Captain about me.”

“Why not?” Emma frowned. “If it wasn’t for you…”

“I would still be alive,” Killian interrupted with a sigh. “I should have never gotten involved in any of this,” he growled, planting his transparent hands on his hips and rolling his bottom lip between his teeth. “This was Liam’s vendetta, not mine.”

Emma watched him shift emotions to anger but even she could tell that it was misdirected. Killian worshipped the ground his brother had walked on, every single inch, and regardless of what had happened she knew he would have done it all again. If Liam was close to finding his parents’ murderer, then Killian would have picked up where he left off without a second thought. In any life.

“Killian,” Emma said softly and when he looked back at her she smiled weakly. “You know as well as I do that regardless of the how, and the when, you would have always followed your brother to find the why.”

Emma was right and Killian curled his lips in mock defeat. “You know me too well, love,” he grinned, wishing so desperately that he could hold her in his arms to thank her properly. “And I am truly sorry for pulling you into this mess.”

Emma pulled her brow together and arched her neck. “Jones,” she rolled her eyes and almost began to laugh in the middle of the precinct parking lot. “Without me, you would have never solved this thing. You need me,” she winked.

Killian beamed from ear to ear, even more in love with Emma than he had ever been. He really had to find a way home. It seemed that even though Emma more than believed he was alive, he still had the misfortune to be able to walk through walls, and he couldn’t figure out why. “Aye, love,” Killian’s smile faded a little with the sudden realisation he might never get back to Emma or their child. “I need you more than anything.”

“Hey sister,” Leroy’s voice invaded Emma’s ears, his harsh, smoke changed rasp catching her unawares and making her jump. She clutched at the files in her hand even harder and swallowed a dry lump down her throat. Her face paled instantly and her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

“Leroy,” she choked out, stepping backward to put more space between them.

Leroy twisted his face into a grimace and eyed the tattered folder in Emma’s arms. “Are you okay?” He grunted, tugging at the waistband of his slacks but failing to pull them up any further because of his overhanging gut. “You look like you have seen a ghost.”

 _“Emma…”_ Killian breathed, shaking her from her trance.

Emma looked beside her and softened. “I know,” she nodded to seemingly nobody.

“Who are you talking to?” Leroy barked, narrowing his eyes at her. He took a step towards her once more and Emma took two back.

“Stay away from me!” She screamed, her voice echoing around the parking lot. It was a public place and she needed somebody to hear her.

“Hey, woah!” Leroy held out his hands defensively. “Calm down. I was just trying to be nice, what with your boyfriend’s passing and all,” He scoffed and Emma couldn’t believe how blase he was about the whole situation. She was standing face to face with the man who had killed Liam, according to the code written in his notes, and yet he was unphased.

It sent a chill through Emma’s spine so deep that she thought she might never feel warmth there ever again.

“I don’t need you to be nice,” Emma spat, straightening herself so she seemed taller. Leroy huffed and mumbled something to himself, shaking his head as he walked away.

 _“Come on,”_ Killian coaxed with a sideways nod of his head. _“Let’s get to the Captain.”_

  
The entire precinct fell silent when Emma walked through the door. There was a mixture of pity and awkwardness that hung in the air, sorrow etched onto the faces of everybody she looked at. Voices dulled to whispers, shoes stilled against the ground and the eerie silence was disturbed only by the shrill ringing of a telephone. Emma’s cheeks flushed and she gripped the edges of the folder she was holding even harder, her knuckles turning white as she bowed her head and walked through to the detective's bullpen.

“Well, this is uncomfortable,” Emma whispered to Killian who was hot on her heels, invisible to everyone but her. He even passed through a few people who were taking up space on the opposite side of the narrow hallway, shuddering each time he did but thankful he didn’t get tethered to anyone like he had with Humbert.

“I’m right here, love,” Killian told her softly as Emma reached the Captain’s office.

She took a deep breath, curling her fingers into her palm to form a fist and knocking on the huge, dark oak colour door hard.

“Come in!” Captain Lucas called, her stern voice almost making the door rattle on its hinges.

“I’m right here,” Killian repeated, wrapping his arms around Emma’s body until his flat palms spread out over her stomach. Emma’s eyelids fluttered closed and she let her head roll back as if she could really feel Killian pressed up against her. Killian nudged his face into the hair behind Emma’s ear and pressed his ethereal lips to the skin there. “I’m always right here.”

“Come in!” Captain Lucas boomed again and Emma was jolted back to awareness of her surroundings once more. She reached for the round, brass handle of the Captain’s door and twisted, pushing the door free from its frame and stepping over the threshold.

Captain Lucas was at her desk, if you could call it that. Organisation was not the woman’s strong suit, and Emma wasn’t sure she even knew the definition of tidy. She had a stack of case files almost as tall as she was balanced precariously on one corner of her desk, a short stack set beside that and then on the opposite end was yet another, stacked almost up to the bulb of her table lamp. Emma knew she had a phone somewhere under it all because she could see a cord trailing from underneath some folders, and her name plaque was just about visible beneath a blue folder.

“Oh, Emma,” She said softly, her tone changing when she realised who had disturbed her. When she looked up her glasses slid to the end of her nose and she gave Emma a smile. “Sit down,” she motioned to the seat opposite her desk and Emma sank down into it with a half hearted smile.

“Thank you, Captain,” Emma smiled, eyes flitting over the mass of folders in front of her. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“Not at all,” Captain Lucas shook her head, shuffling some papers into a pile and trapping them between the frayed edged folder in front of her. “These piles never go down anyway,” she said sadly, setting the case file she was studying to one side. It bumped a tiny statue of a black wolf that Emma had never seen on the desk before, probably because of the fact you could only see about five percent of the entire surface.

“How are you doing?” The Captain asked gently and Emma understood her reservation immediately. She had lost Killian only two weeks ago, but nobody else knew she could see him.

 _“Maybe try to appear a tad more morose, love,”_ Killian chuckled, settling into the chair next to Emma but making no mark on the leather material.

Emma pretended to ignore him and rubbed her hand over her legs, feigning nerves. “Oh, you know,” she shrugged, looking down at her feet. Captain Lucas made a face, her features filled with the pity Emma had seen throughout the building.

“Well, we all miss you,” Captain Lucas said with a weak smile. “But take all the time you need before you come back to work.”

“Well, about that,” Emma sat forward in her chair and licked her lips, looking at the folder in her hands. “Killian left me something that I think you will find very interesting.”

“Oh?” Captain Lucas mirrored Emma, sitting forward in her own chair and spying the folder in Emma’s hand.

Emma handed her the folder. “Liam and Killian were both running an off the books investigation into Gold,” Emma began as the Captain flipped the folder open. “Liam believed Gold responsible for the death of their parents, but to keep his work secure, he wrote all of his notes in a code that he knew only Killian would be able to break.”

“And did he?” The Captain asked, setting her glasses further up her nose with a little push before licking her finger and turning to the next page in the folder.

“No,” Emma shuffled even closer to the edge of her chair and leaned over the desk in front of her. She pointed to several parts on the page the Captain was looking at and continued. “I did.”

Captain Lucas looked up from the folder with an impressed smile. “Emma, I knew you were something special when I saw you on your first day.”

 _“So did I,”_ Killian whispered proudly but Emma did not look in his direction, instead letting her lips twitch into a smirk.

“It’s all in there,” Emma pointed at the folder again. “The when, the why and the how…”

“Wait,” Captain Lucas interrupted quickly, setting the folder down on top of several others in front of her and plucking a small scrap of paper from inside. With a twisted frown, she held it up for Emma to see, the little doodles clearly visible. Emma gulped at the sight, knowing exactly what the Captain was seeing. She wasn’t the Captain for nothing.

“Yup,” Emma answered her silent question with a nod. The piece of paper was one of the oldest notes Killian had made as he had tried to unlock Liam’s code. It showed three small pictures, probably drawn by him in haste, and were a clear indication of blame as far as Liam’s death was concerned. There was a gold bar, a handgun and a dwarf.

 _“I always hated that dwarf,”_ Killian spat.

“Emma, do you realise the implications of this?” Captain Lucas sat back in her chair and pulled her glasses from her nose so she could see Emma more clearly. “If this is wrong…”

_“It’s not…”_

“It’s not,” Emma repeated Killian’s words. “We all know who the dwarf represents.”

Captain Lucas looked at the scrap of paper once more and she shook her head. “And I am to just believe that three symbols on a piece of paper led you to this conclusion?”

“Of course not,” Emma laughed and motioned towards the folder once more. “I did the work, Captain. The proof is there. Leroy killed Liam for Gold and Jefferson killed Killian for Gold,” Emma fumbled across the desk and grabbed another scrap of paper, depicting the same gold bar, the same handgun, and a little top hat with a playing card tucked under the ribbon. Emma tapped the picture. “Everybody knows Jefferson is known as the Mad Hatter.”

_“And Leroy as the Dwarf…”_

“And Leroy as the Dwarf,” Emma clarified. A quiet fell between them and Emma knew it usually meant the Captain was thinking. She had got her cogs turning, her face twitching as she considered what Emma was saying.

“The gold bar obviously represents Gold,” Emma continued, her voice rising an octave with anticipation. “And the gun is obviously the method by which he had people killed.”

Captain Lucas thumbed through a few more scraps of paper. The gold bar was present on every one, and the top hat featured prevalently. Only the middle icon changed, ranging from the gun to a broken bone, a slashed throat, a bathtub which Emma had decoded to represent drowning. Liam Jones had made sure that his symbols were a consistent code, and it hadn’t taken Emma long to work out what each meant.  Captain Lucas inspected the scrap of paper again with a frown. “But how is this supposed to represent Killian’s death if Liam had no idea it would happen?”

Emma grinned almost proudly and pointed to the off white, yellowing piece of paper. “See the torn edges and thinning corners? This note is old, much older than the rest and way before Killian,” Emma nodded with wide eyes. “I’d say this was the first note Liam ever created and represents the murder of Brennan and Saoirse.”

“Emma…” The Captain began, letting the folder droop in her hands.

“This is going to finally land us Gold,” Emma said urgently, jabbing her forefinger into the folder. “We are finally going to get the bastard!”

 _“God, Emma, I love you,”_ Killian sighed, his words forming from the sheer passion of Emma’s words.

Emma took a breath, setting herself back in the chair and swiping her hand across her brow to dislodge some stray strands of hair from her eyelashes. She quickly looked to Killian and gave him a sideways smirk, the pride on his face making her heart swell.

“And if this is wrong?” Captain Lucas countered. “Emma, this could end Leroy’s career. You can’t accuse a detective of killing another without some sort of ramifications.”

“Good!” Emma spat hatefully. “He deserves to fry for what he did to Liam! Jefferson has already confessed to killing Killian too, a confession that all but confirms my report, and I have no doubt he will cop to the Jones parents too,” Emma nodded towards the folder again. Finally, as if reading her mind, Captain Lucas picked it up and turned another page. A small gasp told both Emma and Killian that she had found the page containing the most damning information, the information that would certify Gold as not only depraved beyond anything but also criminally insane.

“So, Gold killed the Jones’?” Captain Lucas clarified, popping her glasses back on, sliding them to the tip of her nose and lifting her nose to level her vision at the page in front of her.

_“Aye…”_

“Yeah, and if Killian and Liam had not been shipped back to England to live with family, he would have most certainly killed them too,” Emma sighed sadly.

“Those poor boys,” Captain Lucas said, breathing a soft sigh. She looked up to Emma with a puzzled expression. “Gold really did all of this because Brennan Jones simply stood up to him?”

Emma nodded. “Gold was trying to recruit Liam and Killian into his lifestyle, shape them into the children he never had. Brennan and Gold had once been friends, so it’s possible Gold thought of the Jones boys as his own, in a twisted sort of way.”

“Any chance Gold could have been the boys' real father?” Lucas said seriously.

 _“Sod off!”_ Killian spat, disgusted and shot Emma a pleading glance to repeat his words.

“Absolutely not,” Emma said diplomatically.

“Hmmm,” Captain Lucas hummed. “I’ll admit, this does seem to be the makings of a very strong case.”

“Think about it, Captain,” Emma implored. “We could solve four murders with this information. Even though he never pulled the trigger, we all know Gold is, by definition, a serial killer.” Captain Lucas looked up and met Emma’s gaze. “How long until he kills again?”

“This will not be easy,” Lucas said firmly, sliding the rollers on the foot of her chair forward a little until her knees bumped the underside of her desk. “We are going to need Gold to confess. We have no weapon, we have no means…”

“But we have a motive,” Emma interjected eagerly. “And I promise you, Captain, if you put me in a room with that bastard, I will get you a confession.”

“Okay,” Captain Lucas said after a pause.

 _“Splendid!”_ Killian clapped but only Emma heard his hands hitting each other.

“Okay?” Emma prompted the Captain for more, but instead of answering her, the Captain simply leaned forward and fished under some files until she found her phone. She lifted the receiver, dialed a few numbers indicating an internal call and peered at Emma over her glasses whilst she waited for an answer. Emma gave her a narrow eyed glare until she heard the voice on the other end of the line.

“Ah, Leroy,” Captain Lucas chimed fakely. “Could you please come to my office?”


	15. Chapter 15

 

The interrogation room was as it always was; cold and dark, the only light from a soft orange fluorescent bulb hanging over the metal table.  Even the furniture, or lack of it, was hard and uninviting. Often used to make a perp feel more than uncomfortable, a tactic often used to draw out the most stubborn confessions. Paint was peeling from the top corner of the room exposing the mold and grime underneath.  It was the perfect metaphor for most of the people who had passed through here, none more so than the short, tubby excuse of a man who was currently fidgeting across from Captain Lucas.   **  
**

“So let me get this straight,” Leroy began with a huff.  “You want me to wear a wire and get Gold to confess to blackmailing me?”

“If that is what you are calling it,” Emma spat, folding her arms across her chest.  She stood behind the Captain, a scowl on her face and venom in her words.

 _“Easy, love,”_  Killian warned her softly, rubbing her shoulders with his hands.  _“Don’t let him get to you.”_

Emma sighed slowly and relaxed.  Killian was right.  Leroy was just a pawn and even though he was arrogant, he was just a small fish in a pool of much larger catches.  Gold was their prize.  Captain Lucas sat back in her chair, the metal creaking under her weight and she peered over the rim of her glasses at Leroy.

“I’m sorry,” she said sweetly, staring at the man before her.  “Did we give you a choice?  I don’t think you understand how serious the charges are against you, Leroy.”

“And I don’t think you understand that I don’t care,” Leroy laughed and the grating sound of his voice made Emma shiver.  

“Detective,” the Captain offered sympathetically, sitting forward and smacking her tongue against the roof of her mouth making an audible tutting noise.  “Let’s be realistic here…”

“You want to talk realistic?” Leroy spat, wide eyed and agitated.  He pulled against his restraints, the cold metal of the handcuffs digging into the flesh surrounding his wrists as he tried to stand.  “Gold already knows I am in here,” he growled, jabbing his finger into the brushed metal surface of the table.  “It’s just a matter of time for me now, sister.  I am a dead man.”

Emma narrowed her eyes.  Leroy’s words were the first honest thing he had possibly ever said, and she realised it.  He was insinuating something that both Emma and the Captain knew; that he was not the only crooked cop on Gold’s books.  As disgusting as he was, and as much as he deserved to pay for what he had done and the pain he had caused, he was more scared of a single man than the entire weight of the police force.  They had to find a way to make him more afraid of them than he was of Gold.

“We can protect you,” Emma bit out, the words foreign and filled with hate, her entire being fighting with the urge to override the cop side of her that would have used the line on anybody else with ease.

“How about you say that again, with just a little less hatred,” Leroy rasped with a roll of his eyes, falling back into his chair which slid across the concrete floor with a scraping noise.

“You don’t really have a choice,” Captain Lucas repeated quickly.  She shuffled some of the papers in front of her, pulling out a crime scene photo of Liam’s murder, and slid the glossy photograph towards him.  It stopped when it hit his hands and Leroy eyed it suspiciously, swallowing hard.  “We know you did this.  You know it and we know it.”

It wasn’t the first time Emma had seen the cold, dead eyed gaze of a corpse before, but what made Liam’s even more heart wrenching was that not that long ago, she was looking at the similar expression of Killian as he bled to death in her arms.  The Jones brothers were so alike with the same sapphire stare that could melt right into your soul, but in death, the spark behind them disappeared and left nothing but an emptiness that settled right into her bones.  Emma couldn’t look away, couldn’t tear her eyes from the blood splattered face of the fallen cop on the page, instead frozen to the spot, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

“ _Emma, love, look away_ ,” Killian soothed, twisting her on the spot and making her face him.  To anyone else in the room it would simply look like she had turned to face the small, barred window, but Emma immediately locked eyes with Killian.  She smiled at him, her lips quivering with the memory of the moment she saw his own light fade from behind his eyes.  “ _It’s alright,_ ” he whispered softly, rubbing his hands up and down her arms and resting his ethereal forehead against hers.

Emma fought to compose herself, sliding her hands down to her still flat belly.  There was nobody else but them in that instant and she inhaled hard, quickly wiping a tear from her eye.

“Bullshit,” Leroy spat, shaking her from her moment.  

“I believe it was actually a gun,” Captain Lucas twisted in her chair and looked to Emma for clarification.  “Right, detective?”

“Right,” Emma agreed.  “No bullshit anywhere at the crime scene, although,” she paused, her brows pulling together in thought.  “Did we make sure crime scene did a thorough sweep?”

“Says here they did,” she shrugged.  The Captain checked the folder for some notes once more, the photocopied scrawl almost unreadable on the page before her.  “Nope,” she announced, flipping the paper around so Leroy could see it.  “No bullshit.  Just a gunshot with your name all over it.  So why don’t we revisit the idea of you wearing a wire, Detective, huh?”  

She was taking her time in mocking Leroy, making sure that they were the ones in charge of this little dance, making sure that he knew he was in for a nasty future should he decline their offer.  Captain Lucas and Emma had already agreed on their ‘Good Cop, Bad Cop’ routine, making sure to only pull out the biggest of guns in their arsenal if Leroy absolutely outright refused to help.  The man was selfish and cruel but on the very top of his list was self preservation.  He would not want to end up a statistic on death row.

“Bite me,” Leroy spat at them, his lips curling into a snarl.

“You really think Gold will protect you?  You really think he cares what happens to you?” Emma moved around behind him, slapping his shoulders with both of her hands and making him jump a little.  She looked up at the Captain over his head and shook her head with a snort when Leroy gave no reply.  “This guy thinks Gold cares about him.”

“Awww,” Captain Lucas pouted, shuffling in her chair and crossing her legs one over the other.  Her skirt covered her legs like a curtain and her gun rubbed against the metal chair, the leather holster squeaking as she moved.  “That’s so sweet,” she pouted at him and cocked an eyebrow.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” Leroy howled, looking between them, his eye flicking over Emma and then the Captain.  “Once Gold gets his claws into you, he owns you.  He owns your job, he owns your free time.  He owns your family,” he sighed.

If Emma looked hard, really hard, she could see the years of anxiety on Leroy’s face.  He was tired and worn, the bags of skin under each of his eyes testament to years of sleepless nights and worry.  He was right, Gold was ruthless, and Leroy was lucky Gold still considered him an asset, but if Leroy’s confessions were anything to go by, Gold had plenty of dirty cops to do his bidding.  Losing one, especially one who was stupid enough get himself caught, wouldn’t matter one bit.

 _“What about my family?”_  Killian snarled.

“And what about my family!” Emma yelled, moving beside Leroy so fast he didn’t have time to register she was even there before her words crashed into the side of his face.  Emma slammed her flat palm down on the table beside his cuffed hands and he flinched away from her.  “What about my brother-in-law?  My boyfriend?” Emma growled, her face so close to his she could feel her breath warming her own face as it bounced off of his skin.

“Wrong place, wrong time,” Leroy snarled back at her.

“Son of a…” Emma grabbed Leroy’s shirt, pulling his face to hers with every intention of head butting him.

_“Emma!”_

“Detective Swan!” Captain Lucas warned quickly and Emma pushed Leroy away from her, stalked away from the table and ran a shaking hand through the hair that had fallen over her face.

 _“Love,_ ” Killian was at her side instantly, whispering sweet nothings into her ear that only she could hear to try and calm her down.   _“Think of the baby,_ ” he begged her softly when she looked up at him and took a deep, calming breath.

Leroy began to chuckle, his whole body bobbing up and down in the chair he was sitting in.  He shook his head, looking down at his hands.  “You think I don’t know what you are doing?” He laughed.  “Your little good cop, bad cop routine is not going to work on me,” he said firmly.  “You two forget who I am.”

“Have we?” Captain Lucas looked at him sternly, her face as still as stone.  “Or have you, Leroy?  Do you even know who you are anymore?” She reached forward once more, picking up another file that looked newer and like it had been well stored.  It was Leroy’s personnel file and when she flipped it open, she tossed page after page of commendations and promotions towards him.  Finally, when Leroy looked away in disgust, she tossed the crime scene photo of Liam’s murder back across the metal surface, making sure it landed exactly where he could see it.  “Are you a good cop gone bad, or have you always been a son of a bitch?”

Emma looked up at the Captain’s curse, never having heard the seemingly sweet old lady say much more than ‘shoot’ before.  In a way, Emma wasn’t sure why she was surprised.  

 _“She’s not the Captain for nothing,_ ” Killian smirked at Emma, reading her mind.

“We know you killed Liam Jones,” Captain Lucas said seriously, pressing her fingers together in front of her.  “We know you did it for Gold.  You are finished, Leroy.  Done.  You are not a cop anymore.  After today, you are nothing,” She looked up, catching Emma’s eye.  “Isn’t that right, Detective Swan?”

The signal.  There it was.  Time to bring out the big guns.

Emma nodded and moved to face the short, bearded man once more.  “That’s right,” she agreed, moving around the table.  Leroy watched her nervously when she reached for the photograph and shoved the paper in his face.  “And you see that?” She pointed out a small, green square in the not so distant background on the photograph.  “That looks like a sign, wouldn’t you agree, Captain?”

Captain Lucas lifted her head so her glasses fell backward up her nose and she squinted at the image.  “Oh yeah, that’s the Maine state line sign,” she nodded confidently, letting her glasses fall back down her nose.  “On the Piscataqua River Bridge, I’d say.”

“The Maine/New Hampshire state line...Swan, what are you getting at?”

“Oh,” Emma feigned surprise and stepped back.  Maybe it was the start of morning sickness, but the rotten stench of corruption that eliminated from the man beside her was too much.  “Doesn’t New Hampshire have the death penalty?” She gave Killian a gleeful smirk.

 _“Bloody brilliant!”_  Killian exclaimed.

“Sure does,” Captain Lucas agreed with a grin, watching a bead of sweat roll down Leroy’s forehead as realisation set in.

“And this photograph looks pretty close,” Emma tossed the photo back onto the table, pacing beside it, tapping her lips as she pretended to think.

“I think you are right,” Captain Lucas grinned wider, watching her young prodigy work.  She had always known Emma would be one of her best detectives, but watching her take on a seasoned veteran of the force, making him sweat under her interrogation just confirmed it.

Emma gasped out loud, clapped her hands together and Leroy jumped about a foot from the chair he was sitting on.  He landed back down with a clatter, his handcuffs and chain rattling through the metal loop welded to the table.  “Do you know what?” Emma turned to the Captain, snapping her fingers and pointing at her with a wide eyed grin.  “I bet the New Hampshire boys would love this!  Catching a cop killer!”

“I can give them a call?” Captain Lucas offered, planting her hands on the edge of the table and readying herself to rise.

“Wait!” Leroy shouted, slamming his balled fists on the table.  “Just...wait a second…” He sounded panicked and Emma enjoyed the rush that flushed over her body.

 _“Swan, I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again, you are a marvel and I love you!”_  Killian declared gleefully, rushing to her side.   _“Scare him with the death penalty!  Perfect!”_

“So what’s it going to be, Leroy?” Captain Lucas’s voice was harsher, her ultimatum clear.  “Your life or Gold’s?”

Leroy sighed, hanging his head.  “Set it up.  I’ll wear the wire.”

 

The tape itched under his shirt, pulling against his chest hair every time that he took a step down the ever lengthening hallway towards Gold’s office.  It never seemed to get any brighter, instead enveloping him in the darkness that had taken over his life for so long.  Leroy was nervous, the tension in the hall palpable as he finally reached the end of the dimly lit corridor and reached for the ominously marked door to Gold’s office.

“Ah, Detective,”Gold said cheerily without even looking up from the desk in front of him.  He was signing some documents, untoward no doubt, and Leroy knew not to take too much notice of them.  Gold’s pen swished across the paper effortlessly, the dull thud of the end of his signature shattering the silence in the room.  He closed the green, leather bound document holder and handed it to Hyde, finally looking up to meet Leroy’s gaze with a sly grin.  “What can I do for you?”

“I need a favour,” Leroy said confidently, striding into the office even further once Gold’s henchmen had made themselves scarce.  He knew that the mob boss couldn’t resist the chance to make a deal.  Gold loved to be owed and Captain Lucas had told Leroy to appeal to his greedier side.

Gold motioned to the chair opposite his huge, hardwood desk and Leroy took a seat.  The luxuriously soft leather squeaked and groaned under his weight and it felt supple under his fingertips that clutched at the arm.  It was expensive, obviously, and Leroy realised that no one was ever going to be better than Gold.  He would always be fodder, easily dismissed with the crack of a gun and sting of a bullet.

Gold’s face lit up and he sat forward in his high back leather chair.  “A favour, you say?” he leered with a grin.  “I like the sound of that.”

“The cop…” Leroy stopped mid sentence, heeding the Captain’s instructions not to implicate knowledge of Gold’s deeds outright.

_“Remember, we need him to say it, not you…”_

“The cop that...died,” Leroy emphasised the last word with a nod of his head.

“Terrible accident,” Gold feigned sympathy.  “Such a shame,” he lied.

“Yes, well, his girlfriend is sniffing around,” Leroy lied, trying desperately to hide the threat of a stutter in his words.  Gold narrowed his eyes and calmly rubbed his thumb against his fingers, a nervous twitch that Leroy had noticed before.

“That pretty little blonde thing?” Gold smirked and his tongue darted out to moisten his lips.  “What does she want?”

“She thinks it was a hit,” Leroy shrugged casually, eyes dropping to watch the shake that had developed in his leg.  “She keeps coming to the precinct going on and on about how her boyfriend was murdered.  Frankly, it’s getting annoying,” he huffed.

“I am failing to see how I can help you,” Gold said slightly annoyed that Leroy was wasting his time with such a frivolous story.  He was smart, he hadn’t been a crime boss for so long without intelligence after all, and Leroy knew it wouldn’t be easy to get anything from Gold that would send the barrage of armed police officers waiting outside crashing through the door.  It was time to play dirty.

“Your name came up,” Leroy said.

“My name? In what context?” Gold prodded, well and truly intrigued.  

“She has files, proof, connecting you to some murder back in the day.  Says it was her boyfriend’s parents,” Leroy swallowed hard and when he looked up, Gold was staring at his own hands that were clenched tightly together in front of him.

The underarms of Leroy’s shirt were already soaked from his interrogation but were even more so now.  If Gold found out what he was up to, there would be no need for a murder trial.  He would be dead before he even reached the door.  Leroy gulped hard, lightly scratching his beard and snaking his hand to rub at the back of his neck.

 _“Don’t worry so much Leroy,”_  the Captains words echoed in his head.   _“You’re not dead until you are cold and dead.”_

“She thinks you…” Leroy began but was silenced when Gold lifted his gaze once more and pressed a finger to his lips.  The muscles in Gold’s jaw ticked as he clenched his teeth and he inhaled hard.  If it wasn’t one cop causing so many problems in his life, it was all of them.  How many would he have to rid himself of before he was free from their torment?

“Her name,” Gold said darkly.

Leroy’s brow furrowed in confusion for a second and he shook his head.  “Her name is Emma Swan,” he said, still confused.  “What are you going to do?” Leroy shocked himself at his own bravery, the prickly heat of adrenaline surging through his body and covering his skin.

“Oh Leroy,” Gold sang eerily.  “I am not going to do anything.”  He pushed himself back away from his desk, the wheels of his chair moving across the floor silently.  Gold reached for his cane and once he was on his feet, he began pacing behind his desk, tapping the brass tip of the walking aid onto the floor.

“But what if the Captain decides to take a look at what she has?” Leroy offered into Gold’s thought process.  

“I didn’t say  _you_  were not going to do anything about it,” Gold sneered, pointing the shiny tipped point of his cane towards Leroy’s chest.  A few more inches and he would make contact, undoubtedly prodding the microphone of his wire and blowing the whole operation.  Leroy gulped hard and shot a look at the cane hanging between them.

“What do you mean?” Leroy stammered.

“You are going to make her go away,” Gold whispered, his voice deeper and full of a mixture of anger and resentment.

“But you said we were even, when I killed Liam Jones for you,” Leroy’s voice turned into panic, albeit faked, but he figured that if Gold suspected anything about being recorded, confessing to the murder of another officer might seem like he was a little bit more genuine.  

“And now we are unbalanced once again,” Gold sneered, pulling the cane back to his side and stamping it onto the floor once more.  “Emma Swan has to go and you suddenly owe me.”

And there it was.  Gold’s deal.  All Leroy needed now was for him to confirm it as per the Captain’s orders and he would be spared the death penalty.  Leroy shuffled awkwardly in his chair and teetered on the edge of the soft, red leather.  “You want me to kill Emma Swan?”

There wasn’t even a paused before, through gritted teeth, Gold snapped his head to look at Leroy once again and gave him a slow nod.  “Kill Emma Swan.  Make it look like an accident.  Make it look like she blew her brains out through grief, I don’t care.  And get me those files she has,” Gold added quickly, his thumb rubbing the side of his finger again as he contemplated what they might contain.  “I want Emma Swan dead and I want those files.”

The next five minutes of Leroy’s life were a blur in slow motion.  There were two doors to Gold’s office and they simultaneously burst open, each kicked nearly off their hinges by a SWAT officer dressed head to toe in black kevlar and velcro straps.  Gold was tackled to the floor, the shouting and barked orders coming from the SWAT team leader lost in the hum of silence as Leroy went deaf, his hands were wrenched behind his back and the cool metal of handcuffs met his wrists.  

Captain Lucas strode into the room with Emma in tow, both of them wearing a ballistics vest and wry smiles.  Gold watched the scene with an arrogant smirk, still believing he was untouchable.  He had been raided before but nothing had ever stuck.  Everybody had their price and Gold had the means to meet each and every sum of money that stood in his way.  That was, until he had failed to corrupt a certain, almost elderly Captain and her young wolf cub prodigy who he had now come to realise was Emma Swan.  The SWAT officer yanked him to his feet and he tried to shake off his grip with a weak shrug as, standing eye to eye with Captain Lucas, he smirked slyly.

“Captain,” he said, the words slithering from his lips like the snake he was.  “What a surprise.”

“The only surprise here is how stupid you are, Gold,” Captain Lucas shot a glance at Leroy as he was led from the room, head hung low as another officer fiddled with removing the recording device and microphone from his body, slipping them both into an evidence bag and sealing it shut.  Gold watched, his jaw hanging open slightly as he realised what had just happened.

“Gold,” Emma began, stepping forward and catching his attention with a commanding voice.  “You are under arrest for the solicitation of the murder of Emma Swan.  You have the right to remain silent.  Anything you say can be used against you.  You have the right to an attorney.  If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you by the court...”

“This is a mistake. Laughable, really,” Gold interrupted with a chuckle..

“Still an arrogant bastard I see,” Captain Lucas smiled sweetly at him.

“Still a dried up has been of a cop I see,” Gold retorted with a spiteful tone.  Captain Lucas simply smiled, wrinkling her nose so that her glasses moved up the bridge a little more, and stepped forward until she was almost leaning against him.

“We got you Gold.  You’re finished,” Captain Lucas spat at him, her face so close to his she could almost feel his dread.  “Get him out of here!”  she shouted into the room before Gold’s cries of protest fell on the deaf ears of everyone as he was dragged out of his office to the waiting police car.


	16. Chapter 16

 

“Thanks for driving me home,” Emma smiled softly at Graham when they had both fully ascended the white steps to her house. **  
**

“It’s no bother,” Graham offered with a shake of his head.  “It’s what friends do, right?”

Emma laughed, the sound that tumbled from her lips the epitome of her exhaustion.  So much adrenaline had been surging through her body this evening, so much pent up anticipation of Gold’s capture, she thought she might spontaneously combust.  The fire of rage that flowed through her since discovering the role Gold had played in the murder of the entire Jones family had faded away, replaced with a weariness that had her barely able to drive herself home.

“I’m sure the Captain won’t mind if you take a few days off,” Graham suggested lightly, shuffling his weight on the creaking boards of the porch.

 _“Aye, love, listen to Humbert,”_  Killian agreed, appearing through the front door and inserting his figure between them.  Graham stepped back as if he sensed the intrusion, looking around as if he had caught the flash of something out of the corner of his eyes.

“Killian is here, isn’t he?” he said uneasily, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his faded black jeans and rocking back on his heels.  Graham had noticed Emma smile, but not at him, and the soft glow in her eyes was reserved only for Killian.

Killian spun to look at Graham as Emma nodded.  Graham took another step back and Killian’s lips twitched into a sly smirk.

 _“Tell him he is safe,”_  Killian cackled, revelling in the feeling of unease he had cast upon his colleague.  If there was one thing about being ethereal that Killian had enjoyed, it was tormenting Graham.  Emma stifled a giggle, her shoulders bouncing up and down as she covered her mouth to try and hide it with a cough.

“You’re safe,” Emma assured Graham when he gave her a puzzled look, his face contorted in a mixture of thought and panic.

 _“Then again,”_  Killian smirked, raising an eyebrow at Emma.   _“There was something quite...arousing about watching you take down Gold…”_

“Stop,” Emma chastised weakly, her skin shivering to attention when she felt Killian ghost his hands over her neck.  The skin pulled tight over her skull, her hair straining in its follicles for his touch.

_“And I have never stopped wanting you…”_

“Killian, no,” Emma said weakly, her body betraying her and her voice a quivering mess as she tried desperately to retain some decorum.

“What is he saying?” Graham prodded lightly, shaking her from her reverie.

 _“I’m sure Humbert wouldn’t mind,”_  Killian whispered seductively into the shell on her ear, gliding his hands over her body as he moved to stand behind her.

“Graham, you have to go,” Emma blurted quickly.  angry at herself for actually considering Killian’s offer.  As much as she wanted it, as much as she yearned to be held by him again, it would all be a lie.  Graham would be a poor substitute for Killian and Emma was sure that he would feel all kinds of wrong compared to the man that she loved.

“Okay,” Graham looked at her confused as he stepped backwards from the porch, pulling his hands from his pockets and steadying himself against the handrail.  “Goodnight, Emma,” he smiled before shifting his gaze around the porch as if he was watching a fly zipping around.  “Goodnight, Killian,” he added cautiously.

When Graham was out of sight, Emma let out a sigh of relief.  “My God, Killian,” Emma huffed, her frustration laced words bouncing off the empty porch as she turned and pushed open the front door.  She let it close behind her and Killian slipped through the hardwood material after her, a chuckle escaping his lips.

“You were tempted,” Killian accused, winking at her when she turned to face him with a slight rosy blush to her cheeks.  “Why did you send him away?” He grinned slyly.  “We could have had fun.”

“It was easier to send him away than explain what you were saying,” Emma snorted a laugh through her nose and tucked a few strands of her blonde locks behind her ear.  Killian gave her a knowing look and raised that boyish eyebrow at her.  “Okay, yes, I was tempted. You have to come back as soon as possible,” Emma licked her lips at the memory of his body pressed to hers, his hands on her skin, but it was all tainted by sadness and her heart ached.

“Miss me, love?” He teased before he realised that the very words he spoke were Emma’s agonizing reality every day.  

Killian hadn’t meant for his words to have such an impact, but when he had said them and saw the anguish plastered on Emma’s face, he regretted them instantly.  Maybe she was crashing from the high of taking down Gold, or maybe she was simply overcome with the realisation that she might end up being a single parent, but Emma was clearly distraught.  Her lip quivered and she buried her face in her hands, running up the stairs and along the hall to their bedroom.  The only sound louder than her wails was the slamming of their bedroom door, and Killian looked at his feet with a sigh.

When Killian drifted through the wall to their bedroom, Emma was already laying on the bed, the thick, full comforter enveloping her from all directions.  She sniffed and shifted her face against the pillow, the soft cotton material eagerly absorbing her tears as more began to fall.

“I’m sorry, love,” Killian choked out, his own emotion bubbling to the surface.  “I wasn’t thinking…”

“Why are you not back yet?” Emma sobbed, her words tinted by the anger she felt inside and her emotions still very raw.  “We are nearly out of time,” she squeaked, her words broken by a heave that she couldn’t hold back.  

Killian wasted no time joining her on the bed, his invisible weight making small indents on the comforter beside her.  He laid his head down on the pillow beside the one she was clutching and waited for her sobs to subside, letting her cry out all of her sorrow as he watched, helpless to comfort her with anything but his words.

“Emma,” he began, the low timbre of his voice causing her to open her eyes and face him once more.

“It’s just...It’s not fair,” Emma coughed out another sob, her breath hitching and the sting of tears attacking her eyelids once more.

“I know,” Killian agreed sadly.

“I thought getting Gold would give me closure for what he did to you...to us,” Emma swallowed hard, slipping her hand between them to rest over her stomach.

“But it hasn’t,” Killian offered her with a sombre expression.

“No, and I can’t do this, Killian,” Emma’s breath hitched, interrupting her words again.  She gripped harder at the pillow under her face, wishing it was Killian.  “I can’t do this alone.”

“Don’t, Emma,” Killian begged, his voice ragged and broken.  “Don’t think like that.  If all I have left is tonight, I don’t want you to be left with this memory of sadness,” he gulped, trying to keep the strength in his words.  “Alright?  No more crying,” Killian pleaded, reaching over and willing his hand to wipe away the tears on Emma’s face.  

Emma felt the faintest sensation against the apple of her cheek, her eyelids fluttering closed as she sighed a whimper on a breath.  Killian watched her face intently, his eyes flitting over her features, finally resting on her mouth that he wished he could kiss.  Her lips were so soft and inviting, the feel of them a memory Killian knew he would never forget.

“Do you remember the day we met?” Emma rasped softly, a tiny tick at the side of her mouth causing her lips to spread into a smile, a happier smile.  Her eyes remained closed and Killian wasn’t sure if it was in the memory of that day or of his hands on her skin.

“Aye, love,” Killian ghosted his thumb over her cheek and hoped she could feel him.  “How could I forget?” he laughed easily, his own smile growing.

“I was so scared of meeting you,” Emma grinned to herself at the memory.  “I’d heard stories,” she teased.

“Stories?” Killian raised a brow.  “Good, I hope.”

Emma laughed and pulled at the sleeve of her cotton long sleeved top, wiping the damp lines from her face quickly and brushing the hair from her face.  “Would I have been scared if they were good?”

“Indeed,” Killian conceded with a sly smirk.  “Was I every stereotype you were hoping for?”

Emma rolled her bottom lip between her teeth and inhaled hard, recalling the day she had met Killian on her first day as a detective.  She had been assigned to his car that shift, spending the entire day trapped inside the metal contraption with a man who she had decided on first impressions was, undoubtedly, the most arrogant and cocky person she had ever met.  At first sight, however, Emma had decided that he was far prettier than any man should be and that he intrigued her enough to actually listen when he talked.

As it turned out, Killian Jones was nothing like the stories.  They painted him as an egotistical womanizer with one agenda and a closure rate for cases so high that he was a bullpen god.  It was true that his cases were closed quicker than the thighs of a woman becoming a nun, and most of his fellow detectives looked to him for advice and with admiration, but Emma didn’t see a single shred of evidence to suggest that he played the field.  No disgruntled exes.  No complaints against him for harassment.  Nothing.  In fact, she encountered the very opposite.

Killian Jones was, in fact, a gentleman.  He was her superior but that didn’t stop him from opening her patrol car door for her, or buying her coffee.  And not just any coffee, no, he actually asked her what she ‘fancied’ and just paid.  He opened doors for her to buildings, and made sure she could walk through first, and never interrupted her whilst she was talking to a suspect or witness, defending her honour when things got a little heated.  He also didn’t demand she complete his paperwork so that he could go out with the guys after work, instead content to sit opposite from her dimly lit desk and join her in the tedious, daily task.  And this was all on her first day.

After that day, she had softened to him, enjoying the way he smiled in her direction across the bullpen when he thought she wasn’t looking and defended her from all the rookie jokes.  She had told Graham that very night that Killian Jones made her tingle and didn’t think she had stopped smiling since.

“Only one,” Emma smirked coyly.

“Oh?  Which one would that be, love?” Killian asked gently, letting his hand slide down over her shoulders to hover over her stomach.

“I had heard you had a penchant for blondes,” Emma grinned cheekily.  “Turned out to be pretty true,” she shrugged playfully, shaking her golden tresses with a nod of her head and laying her face on her hand that was palm down on the pillow.

“You are actually the first and only blonde,” Killian said matter of factly.  “I promise,” he winked.

“And what about me?  Was I everything you had imagined?” Emma asked him with a smirk of intrigue, narrowing her eyes a little when he pondered the question.

Killian’s face grew serious, his smile fading away as he was once again hit with a wave of emotion that was mixed with the fear of never being whole again.  “Emma,” Killian began, propping his head up a little on his elbow so he could look down into the dull green pools of her eyes, still watery from her tears.  “I could never have imagined a more beautiful creature,” he purred honestly. “You walked into the bullpen and beguiled me, and it was the first time in my life I had considered ending my career to pursue a colleague.”

“Because we were not allowed to date at first,” Emma confirmed quietly, looking up at him with childlike eyes.  “Precinct rules.”

“That’s right,” Killian smiled, closing his eyes and exhaling hard at the memory of first seeing Emma.  “You took my breath away, Swan.  You swiped it right out of my lungs and it wasn’t long after that, you stole my heart as well.”  Killian’s eyes flickered open once more and his tongue darted out to moisten his lips that didn’t even need it.  “You are a thief, Emma Swan, and you own every part of me.”

Emma’s heart broke in her chest.  All she wanted was to kiss him, but Killian was so distant despite appearing so close, it was cruel.  A single tear rolled from her eyelids again, sparking the now familiar burn in the back of her throat as she began crying once more.  “God, I wish I could kiss you,” she sobbed, rolling her face forward across the pillow until it was almost touching Killian’s glowing features.  Emma threw her arm across his body but it slid straight through his being, landing with a feathery echo on the comforter underneath him.

“Soon, my love,” Killian promised faithfully.  “But sleep now,” he coaxed when he saw Emma’s lips fight with a yawn.  “I will be here when you awake, I swear to you.”

Killian’s words couldn't have been further from the truth. As he watched Emma sleep well into the night, soothing her twitches and disturbances with the soft timbre in his voice, he felt the pulling sensation of the Nether, a blinding light and a cracking noise accompanying it, before he stood alone in the expanse of nothingness once more.

“Welcome back, brother,” Liam greeted him with an eerily calm smile.  “It seems your time has run out.”

 

There were not that many instances where Emma was woken up by the weather.  She nearly always kept her curtains closed so that she couldn’t be bothered by the aggravating morning sunlight, its brightness and accompanying warmth a constant reminder of the dawn of day.  Why people enjoyed the sensation of a bright light in their face first thing in the morning, Emma would never understand.  All it signified to her was the start of the working day, and meant she had to get up and leave the warmth of her bed to be an adult.  So when she was interrupted from her dream by the thundering clatter of raindrops against the window pane, she peeled her eyes open with a frown and a groan.

It wasn’t unusual for it to rain in Maine.  The state was known for its damp and for its cold, but what was unusual was the ferocity of this particular bout of precipitation.  When Emma opened her eyes fully, blinking a few times to adjust her blurry vision in the darkened room, she struggled to hear herself think over the pounding rain.  It hit the glass so fast and so loudly that she thought it might break through the barrier at any second.

Emma peered around the room, the off grey hue of the room from the storm clouds outside absolutely no indication of the time of day.  She guessed it might be early, but there was rarely much traffic around when the weather was this bad, so Emma couldn't use that as an indicator.  She sat up, ruffling her messed up hair with her fingertips, scratching lightly on her scalp and yawning.  She felt like she had slept for the first time in such a long time and a small smile played on her lips when she noticed the Killian shaped body print next to her.

Rubbing one of her eyes, Emma scooted to the edge of the bed and swung her legs over until her toes brushed the cold floor.  The numbers on the alarm clock flashed up at her, grabbing her attention to the device that had taunted her for the last week.  It was almost midday, nowhere near the time that Killian had set, and Emma frowned at how long she had overslept.  She yawned again, pushing herself to her feet without a second thought for the lack of alarm and made her way across the bedroom floor towards the bathroom.

Emma stretched, her entire body stiffening and her feet dragging against the wooden floor with light scuffing sounds.  There was an eerie silence when she pushed open the white bathroom door and was met with nothing, the faucet securely closed and not so much as a drip escaping the spout.  Even when she knew he was there, could see him, Killian was still sure to set the alarm and turn on the faucet for her each day.  It was like their signal, but on this miserable, cloudy day, there was nothing and Emma’s skin suddenly prickled with the first signs of panic.

“Killian?” She said softly, pulling the bathroom door towards her and stupidly looking behind it.  She rolled her eyes and sighed at herself, trying to get a grasp on reality.  Killian was ethereal.  It stood to reason that sometimes he would be elsewhere, just like when he had managed to make his way to the precinct and possess Graham the first time.  But this felt different.

“Killian?” Emma called louder as she stepped from the bedroom and made her way along the hall.  The house was silent, cold and dark, only the patter of rain against the windows breaking the monotonous buzz in Emma’s ears.  She gripped the edge of the railing and leaned over the bannister, straining to hear any sound from the floor below.  Nothing.

“Damn it, Killian, you promised,” Emma sighed to herself, trying to hide the crack in her voice as her tears once again threatened to fall.  She moved to the top of the staircase, grabbing the rail and rushing to the bottom.  She took her last step just a flash of lightning flooded the open plan kitchen and dining area with a bright, white light, making Emma jump back and clutch at the necklace around her neck in reflex.  Another flash was followed by a murderous rumble of thunder that shook the whole house and made Emma cover her ears, pinch her eyes closed and her heartbeat pound harder in her chest.

When she opened her eyes again, there was nothing.  No glowing Killian to soothe her.  No tingling sensation across her skin as he tried to reach out and wash away her worries with his touch.  Emma felt hollow and empty, just as she had the night after they had buried Killian.  Clutching harder to the charm around her neck Emma let her lip quiver and the prick of tears sting at her eyelids.

“Oh Killy,” she sobbed, hanging her head and watching her tears fall to the floor beside her feet.

Just as she had unequivocally sensed Killian was still out there and with her, Emma now knew that he was gone.

 

“Where is he?” Emma screamed.  She threw open the door to the bullpen with so much force it slammed into the wall behind it and left a dent, making every detective currently in the precinct stop what they were doing and look in her direction.

“Who?” Graham asked, setting the folder in his hands down onto the desk in front of him.

“You know who,” Emma spat, charging forward towards the interrogation rooms.

“Woah, wait, Emma,” Graham practically begged, running to her side and sliding between her and the door to the interrogation room.  “You can’t go in there,” he panted, holding her back by placing his hands on her shoulders.

“Get out of my way, Humbert,” Emma growled, balling her fists at her side.

Graham looked at her as though he didn’t recognise her.  She was soaked to the bone from the rain, her hair sticking to her forehead and the braid on the back of her head dripping cold water onto the floor behind her.  When he felt her relax a little and take a step back, Graham released his grip and cocked his head to the side.

“What’s got into you?” He almost whispered, shooting a quick glance around the bullpen where most of the other detectives had pretended to resume their activities.  “You can’t just barge into an interrogation, Emma, you know that.”

“Then get that son of a bitch out here so I can…”

“Emma!” Graham interrupted her quickly, his voice hushed as he hooked a hand behind her elbow and pulled her to one side.  Emma huffed in annoyance, her jaw clenched tightly closed as she wrenched her arm from Graham’s grasp and stalked away from him a few feet.  “Get it together.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Emma hissed, glaring at him.  “I am perfectly in control.”

“Yeah, looks like it,” Graham stared in disbelief as he ran his hands over his face.  Emma took a deep breath, shaking with rage.  Graham watched her closely, stepping back into her space and laying a hand on her shoulder, something that made her jump from her anger fuelled thoughts and caused Graham to pulled his hand back as though he had been burned.  “What’s gotten into you?”

“He’s gone,” Emma said quietly, her words almost silent as they fell from her lips.  Somehow, saying them out loud had made them catch in the throat with the realisation.  “Killian is gone.”

Graham straightened up and took a deep breath as he folded his arms over his chest.  He fell sideways, leaning against the wall on his shoulder and began toying with the stubble under his lower lip.  “What do you mean, gone?” he asked gently, shooting a glance around the bullpen behind Emma as he spoke.

“Just, gone,” Emma shrugged emotionally.  “He promised he would be back here when I woke up and he is gone.”

“Well, I mean, how do you…” Graham began, but Emma quickly cut him off.

“I know,” Emma said seriously, catching his gaze as if she was staring through him.  “I can feel it, Graham.  He’s not here.”

Without even realising it, Emma had begun crying as soon as the words left her mouth.  Her clothes were wet from the rain so her tears were lost as they fell from her eyes, rolled over the swell of her cheek and disappeared into the fabric of her shirt.  Without a second thought, Graham reached out and pulled her into his arms, the sudden chill of her wet clothes soaking him through his own and taking him by surprise.  Emma cried into his shirt, clutching the material in her fingertips and wishing that the hard planes of his chest felt different, more familiar against the side of her face.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” Graham managed over her cries.  He cradled the back of her head in one hand and rubbed his other over her back.  “I’m so sorry.”

The soft click of an opening door caught Emma’s attention and through her weary vision, she just caught the menacing silhouette of Gold as he exited the interrogation room in handcuffs.  He was being lead by Captain Lucas, his head held arrogantly high and his hands in front of him.  Emma’s crying stopped instantly, her rage returning when she locked eyes with Gold over Graham’s shoulder and he gave her a sly, sideways smirk.

“You!” Emma screeched, catching everyone by surprise.  She lunged, barging into Graham who tried desperately to hold her back.  “Gold, you son of a bitch!”

“Captain, it seems your detectives are out of control,” Gold sneered, looking Emma up and down with disgust.

“Why?!” Emma screamed, clawing at Graham’s arms as he lifted her clean off the floor and pulled her back flush against his chest.  Emma kicked out, desperate to reach the man who had taken everything from her who only gave her an evil smile in return.  “Let me go!”

“You know I can’t do that, Emma,” Graham grunted, the muscles in his forearms bulging as he fought to hold her still.

“Emma?” Gold said, the words slithering from his mouth.  “Emma Swan?” He cocked his head to the side and took her in more fervently.  Gold looked over Emma slowly, his eyes dragging over her so slowly it made her skin crawl.  “So you are Emma Swan,” he sniped.

“You bet your ass,” Emma growled.

“Shut up, Gold,” Captain Lucas warned.  “And Humbert,” she snapped her fingers towards Graham who struggled to see over Emma’s shoulder with her bundled up in his arms.  “Get Swan out of here.”

“No!” Emma shouted and the entire bullpen fell silent, eyes fixed on the scene once more.  “Tell me why?  Why Liam?  Why Killian?  Why the Jones’?”  Emma nearly ran out of breath by the time she got to the end of her tirade.  Between fighting with her rage for Gold and against the might of Graham, she was growing tired.  Feeling her sag in his arms, Graham set her back down on the floor but hooked a finger into the belt loops of her jeans, just in case.  “These were good people!  My people!”

“And they stood in my way!” Gold screamed at her, his entire face inches from hers, the wobble of his cheeks as his words vibrated through him making Emma pause.  Everyone looked at Gold in shock, taken back by his sudden outburst.  He had been so calm before now.  In the interrogation he had outlasted two detectives who had retired for the evening long before he had even popped open the top button of his shirt.

“If they had just done as they were told!” Gold spat, spittle leaving his mouth with his words.  Emma flinched away and the officers behind him grabbed Gold by the shoulders.

“You can’t just kill everyone who gets in your way,” Emma retorted.  “You’ve ruined families!  You’ve ruined mine!”

“And what about mine?” Gold insisted angrily, his cheeks flushing with red.  “Brennan was like a brother to me, and those boys like my own…”

“You were nothing to those boys,” Emma snarled, balling her fist at her side once more.  Graham noticed and wrapped his fingers around her wrist in anticipation of her second wave of assault.

“I made those boys!” Gold barked, his voice suddenly booming through the bullpen.  “They were nothing without me!” He spat, drool dripping from his mouth in his temper.  “Two little snivelling, snotty kids when their parents died.  It would have been so easy to make them into my heirs.”  The officers held him back harder as he tried to advance on Emma, his fingers flexing together as if he would strangle her if he could.

Emma snorted a laugh through her nose.  “They were everything without you!” She said furiously, waving her arm to motion around the room.  “They were good cops, great detectives and they were even finer men,” she breathed hard, sucking in a much needed breath.  “They were more than you ever will be, or will ever know.”

Gold’s jaw twitched in vexation and he tossed his head aside, sucking in his own lungful of air.  For what felt like forever he stared at Emma, a mixture of admiration and outrage clouding his brain.  No one had ever stood up to him so vehemently before and for that he respected her, but it just justified his reason for wanting her dead even more.

“I just want to know why,” Emma shook with indignation, finally pulling her arm free from Graham’s hold and giving him a look that said she was okay.

Gold laughed, a deep, rumbling in his chest that sent a chill through the room.  The handcuffs between his wrists rattled when he lifted his hands to his face and swiped his hair out of his eyes calmly, returning his gaze to Emma with a salacious lick of his lips.  “Because I could,” he shrugged and smiled at her darkly.

“Fuck you, Gold!” Emma lunged again, Graham only just wrapping his arms around her waist and yanking her away in time.  “Fuck you! You fucking bastard!” Emma spat out in a sentence that was broken up by her struggling in Graham's arms once more.

“Detective Swan!” Captain Lucas bellowed, pointing down the bullpen and nudging her head to the officers holding back Gold. “Get him out of my sight!”

“And do you know what?” Gold sneered with maniacal laughter as the officers pulled him in the opposite direction.  “I’m glad I killed them! All of them!  I am glad to be rid of the whole bloody lot of the Jones’!”

Emma calmed suddenly and relaxed in Graham’s arms.  Confused he let her back down onto the floor once she had ceased her kicking and screaming and gave her a puzzled look.  Emma’s lips twitched sideways, the smile on her lips growing as she heard Captain Lucas re-read Gold his Miranda rights, changing them to accommodate the now confessed murders of Brennan, Saoirse, Liam and Killian Jones.

“You’re wrong!” She called after him, snaking her hands over her flat stomach and smiling with pride.   “Not of all them,” Emma said defiantly.  Gold froze, mouth hanging open aghast in realisation as if he had just been kicked in the balls.  In a way, he just had.


	17. Chapter 17

 

The rain had eased and so had the tension in Emma’s muscles as she sat cross legged on the grave of Killian Jones.  The soil beneath her was still soft, even softer from the downpour, but it somehow felt comforting and welcoming.  Emma reached out and traced the edges of Killian name, the etched letters painted black on the slate grey headstone.  Her fingers trembled and as she collected the droplets of water that had pooled in the lettering on her fingertips, she smiled sadly.

“You lied, Killian,” she sniffed, her words more sorrowful than angry.  She rubbed her finger against her thumb, wiping the water against her skin mindlessly.  “You promised.”

There was little sound in the cemetery, only the soft rustle of the leaves of a nearby tree as the wind shook them gently.  The ground was still damp from the storm and the sweet smell of grass filled Emma’s nostrils when she inhaled hard to clear her blocked nasal passages.  With a shaky hand she wiped at the tears that were burning her face and felt the emptiness surround her.

Emma could no longer sense Killian’s presence.  When he had first been shot, she knew he was still around, and whether it was just her body’s way of being unable to let him go, she didn’t know, but it felt comforting to feel him with her everywhere.  Now she just felt hollow and barren, a darkness creeping inside of her that had previous been filled with the light of hope as she eagerly awaited his return.

“You said you would come back to us,” Emma ground her teeth a little as she picked at the grass in front of her.  She pulled a lump out and threw it at the headstone pathetically, collapsing forward into a fragile heap of wails as she covered her face and sobbed into her palms.

“I can’t feel you anymore, Killian,” She sighed, the words burning the back of her throat where a hot, stinging lump had formed.  “I could feel you all the time and now you are not there,” Emma cried pitifully.  “I feel so alone.  I’m lost without you.”

Emma shuffled her weight until she was laying on her side across Killian’s grave, her hair fanning out around her to create a makeshift pillow of golden sun drenched locks.  She pulled her knees to her chest, tucking her hands between them and her chest so that she could lay her hand over her tummy.  She was not showing yet but she feared that by the time she was, the thought of even having a child alone and having to explain it’s father’s demise would be too painful.

“We need you to come back,” she whimpered, her bottom lip quivering as she shook from her sobs.  Her body spasmed and twitched on every breath but she was met with absolute silence.  “I just need you.”

 

 

“Welcome back, brother.”  Killian spun on his heels at his brother’s voice, his shock quickly replaced with irritation when he saw the smile on Liam’s face.  “It seems your time has run out,” Liam said cooly with his hands behind his back and almost no emotion.

“No!” Killian growled, stepping towards Liam who made no move to avoid him.  “You said I would return if Emma believed!”  Anger began to rise inside of him, the twitch of muscles in his jaw and his furrowed brow doing little to hide it.

“Whilst that is correct,” Liam began coldly.  “Your time has expired.”

“But she could see me!” Killian raged, waving his arm at the cloudy nothing around him.  “How much more proof do you need?”  Killian’s nostrils flared and he balled his fist at his side.

“I am not the one that needed convincing,” Liam said cryptically.

Killian frowned harder, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.  “Enough, Liam, or whoever you are,” he growled on a sigh.  “Enough of your lies and your games.”

“Games?” Liam countered quickly, almost interrupting him.  “Killian, this is not a game.  This is very real, with very real consequences.”

“Consequences that you said could be reversed if…”

“If,” Liam interrupted him sternly, his voice accompanied by a booming thunder like noise that echoed all around Killian.  “If you figured it out in time.”  Liam stared at Killian, bringing his hands in front of him and squaring his shoulders.  “Have you figure it out, brother?”

Killian could feel the rush of adrenaline surge over his skin, the sudden panic setting into his every muscle.  There was a catch.  There always had to be a catch.  “No,” Killian said sadly, now realising that making Emma believe was just part of the terms of his return.

“No,” Liam mimicked cruelly.  “You have not.”

Killian’s shoulders sagged and he fought back the tears that threatened to fall.  He felt cold, alone and even worse, he knew he had let Emma down.  He had let down the woman he loved and he had let down their child, who had not yet come into the world.

“How can you be so cruel?” Killian growled.  The thought of his daughter never knowing him ripped through Killian’s heart like a knife.  “My daughter will never know me.  I will never hold her in my arms and hear her call me ‘daddy’, or hear the innocence in her laugh as we play.”

“I am truly sorry, Killian,” Liam’s tone changed to sudden softness as he silently walked around Killian.  “If it makes you feel any better, brother, no one has ever figured it out.”  Liam placed a huge palm on Killian’s shoulder, but it felt foreign to him and he shrugged it off immediately.

“You are not my brother,” Killian spat, stepping away from Liam and almost stumbling backwards.  “You are a demon.”

Liam let out a sadistic laugh from deep in his belly and threw his head back.  “Now, now, dear brother,” he grinned, shaking his head as if surprised by Killian’s rage.  “If you need me to be a demon, I will be, but as I have told you once before, I am whatever or whomever people need me to be.”

“When they die?” Killian gulped hard, the hair on his scalp flushing hot and standing to attention.

“Yes,” Liam nodded slowly.

“So I am dead?” Killian’s voice broke a little, the squeak in his words because they had caught the lump in his throat.  If he was dead then everything that he had achieved, solving his murder, solving the murder of his family and finally getting Emma to believe that he was fighting for them, was for nothing.  “Has this whole experience just been the last evil flickers of my brain as it dies?”

Liam took a large, unneeded breath and looked around to the right of them both.  “This is your judgment, brother.”  Killian followed his gaze and noticed a large, spherical glass like object mounted on a pristine, white pedestal that Killian could have sworn was not there seconds before.  Liam stepped towards it and beckoned Killian closer, waving his palm over the shiny surface until an image appeared to them both.  Killian stepped closer cautiously, finally rushing when he heard the echoing sobs of Emma.

“Emma?” Killian said hopefully.  His eyes searched the smokey image before him and he felt his heart quicken in his chest.  “Emma!” He called desperately but nothing happened.

“She cannot hear you,” Liam said softly, watching the image.

“Then why are you set to torture me!” Killian barked through gritted teeth.  He tore his eyes away from Emma for just a second before the sound of her wails pulled his gaze back.  “Stop this!” Killian implored, slamming his fist against the solid, glass like globe before him.  “You gave her hope and then tore it away from her like it was nothing!”

“We have no influence on the earthly plane, Killian,” Liam scolded lightly.  “You did this.”

“On your instruction!” Killian howled, the rage coursing through him almost too much to bear.

“Killian, look at her,” Liam nodded towards the globe again, the watery cries of Emma filling the space around them.  “What do you see?”

“Enough,” Killian rasped darkly, turning his head away and pinching his eyes tightly closed as he tried to drown out Emma’s crying.

“Killian, what does Emma mean to you?” Liam asked monotonously, his smile fading.

“How can you even ask me that?” Killian grumbled again.  He forced himself to look at Emma once more, her fragile figure curled up on her side, clutching at her stomach and sobbing into the soft, recently dug earth on top of his grave site.  The pang of sorrow in his heart was indescribably painful and Killian reached out and laid his hand over Emma’s image.  “I would die for her,” Killian whispered through a clenched jaw.

“Would you?” Liam asked him surprised, a sly grin spreading across his lips.

Killian’s head snapped up to meet the ethereal form of whatever was impersonating his brother and he narrowed his eyes at it.  “Of course I would,” he said with all his heart.  “I would throw myself in front of a bullet a thousand times over if it meant that Emma was spared the pain of this.”

“This?” Liam prodded.

“This!” Killian waved a hand towards the globe again.  “This is barbaric.  You said that if i made Emma believe I was still alive within a week, I could return to her.  I did that, and I am still here.  You gave me, gave us, false hope.”  Killian sounded deflated and his ears wiggled as he tried to drown out the ever present sound of Emma’s begging and pleading from the globe.  “So if I am to be judged, then I have one final request.”

“Request?” Liam laughed, amused by Killian’s audacity.

“Yes, request,” Killian clarified more forcefully.  “There is someone or something higher up than you, I know there is, so if I am to be banished to Hell or ascend to Heaven, after such a diabolical week, you at least owe me one thing.”

Liam smiled at Killian’s defiance.  “Go on.”

“Make her forget,” Killian swallowed hard as the words left his mouth.  “Erase Emma’s memories of the last week.  Make her forget about me promising to return to her only to let her down in the worst possible way,” Killian stopped mid-sentence, his words cracking and raising an octave in his throat.  “If I am never going back, and even if the cost is the damnation of my soul, I never want Emma to live with the memory of my broken promises because it will kill her.  She is so strong, but this will break her, and she cannot lose both me and the last part of me she will ever have, our daughter,” Killian sighed, the sting of tears pricking at his eyes as he lifted his gaze to meet Liam once more.  “Please, I beg of you, for the sake of my daughter’s future.”

“Hmmm,” Liam hummed in agreement to an invisible discussion he was having.  Killian eyed him suspiciously and watched as he snapped his fingers and the globe disappeared, the sounds of Emma’s cries fading away to nothing.  Killian shot a glance around him and was only met with the blinding white of the Nether.

“What does that mean?” Killian asked, his voice laced with worry.

“It means,” Liam said softly, an almost proud smile playing across his lips.  “That you have figured it out, my dear brother.”

Confused, Killian shook his head and swiped a hand across his forehead, clawing his hands down his face to wipe at his tears.  “I beg your pardon?”

“Of course,” Liam said jovially.  “Let me clarify the situation for you.”  Liam took a step sideways, wandering around Killian as he spoke, his hands returning behind his back and his brother’s charmingly boyish smile plastered on his face.  “You see, the last seven days were never about belief,” he began, pointing a knowing finger towards Killian.

“But…” Kilian began, but was quickly interrupted.

“Come now brother,” Liam chastised teasingly.  “Emma would have always believed you to be there.  You two are connected, sharing a bond so strong your hearts beat as though they are one.  No,” Liam continued quickly, resuming his pacing.  “This was about acceptance.”

“Acceptance?” Killian frowned.  “Acceptance of what?”

“Of your fate, Killian,” Liam said as if it was the most obvious answer in the entire world.  “Your fate was sealed the second that bullet left the gun.”

“So why the theatrics of the last week?”

“An opportunity,” Liam assured him with a wry grin.  “You were given the chance to show what you are, what you have always been.”

Killian’s brain spun with information as he tried to process what Liam was saying.  “And what is that?”

“A sacrificial hero,” Liam grinned, stopping his pacing and looking at Killian with genuine pride.  For a second, Killian felt himself believe that the being before him was actually his brother.

“A hero?” Killian stuttered.  “I am no hero.”

“Oh, but you are,” Liam piped in eagerly.  “You are willing to accept an unknown fate, regardless of the fact that it could be damnation or ascension, and all for the love of your family.  This was always about you, Killian, and the ultimate sacrifice you are willing to make for your family.  Sacrifice, fuelled by unconditional love, is what defines a hero.  Would you not agree?”

Killian shook his head.  “Not at all.”

Liam smirked.  “That’s what a true hero would say.”  With a smile that seemed to shine with an angelic light, Liam stepped in front of Killian and raised his hand, his fingers poised to click.  He rested one hand on Killian’s shoulder and took a breath.   “Are you ready for your judgment, Killian?”

There was something about the way that Liam was smiling at him that made Killian feel calm.  His eyes fluttered closed and all of the resentment and pain disappeared, a feeling of utter peace enveloping him.  Killian felt no fear, no hate, nothing but love and the joy as he heard the laughter of a small girl accompanied by flashes of memories that had not yet happened flicker across the inside of his eyelids.  

She was beautiful.  Created in the image of her mother no doubt, she ran through a field of yellow flowers, her long, black hair silken and whipping behind her as she moved in slow motion.  Her cheeks were round like Emma’s, her ears slightly diamond shaped with an elfen point that held back a bunch of her raven locks, and the smile on her face was that of pure euphoria.  She was maybe six, her voice high pitched and full of excitement as she waved an arm at him and beckoned him to her with an infectious giggle.   _“Daddy, come home!”_

“You will make your little girl very proud,” Liam murmured sweetly and snapped his fingers, but Killian couldn’t hear him clearly over the angelic picture before him.

The sound of Liam’s fingers echoed in Killian’s ears like the reverberations in a cave and he couldn’t open his eyes as the sensation of falling overtook him.  The whoosh of sound in his ear sounded like tires on gravel, the small sounds like stones hitting the inside of his head, tiny white dots flashing behind his eyes as the image of his daughter faded away into a speck of light in the darkness on his mind.  

His senses were invaded from all angles and he was almost scared to open his eyes.  He could smell their house, the fragrance from Emma’s candle burning antics weeks ago still lingering in the fabrics.  Killian could hear the traffic outside, could feel the softness of the plush bedroom carpet under his expensive suit shoes and the weight of his necklace.  Suddenly, he felt warm, but it wasn’t just a warmth that spread through him with the rush of blood around his body.  He also felt it on his skin, a delicate touch igniting the inner blaze of his heart.

“Wait, Killian,” Emma’s words shook him and he peeled his eyes open once the flashing at stopped.  She was holding his hand, tugging him back towards her and halting his determined steps towards the stairs.  “There is something I have to tell you,” Emma said softly.

“I’m sure whatever it is can wait until we are in the taxi,” Killian gave her a soft smile and before he could even stop himself, the words had tumbled from his lips and he was struck with an incredible sense of deja vu.  “David will murder us if we miss his opening speech again,” Killian said, the words sounding alien to him.  He frowned at his choice of words, a shudder creeping up his spine.

Emma shook him from his deja vu once more when she hooked her arm into the crook of his elbow.  He looked down at her hand, the alabaster perfection of her long, slender fingers contrasting the black of his tuxedo like keys on a piano.  “You’re right,” Emma smiled sweetly.  “Let’s go.”

Killian stopped them both as they reach the top of the stairs and heaved a breath, pulling Emma to a halt beside him.  She looked at him with a confused look, her perfectly shaped eyebrows knitting together and her tongue darting out to moisten her rouged lips.  “Killian?” She asked him softly, giving his arm a little squeeze.  “Is everything okay?”

“Actually, no,” Killian gulped, turning his body so that he was facing Emma on their landing.  He took her hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over the back of her knuckles nervously.  He looked up and met her gaze, giving her a tiny twitch of a weak smile to reassure her.  “Love, I have been thinking,” he began, but Emma’s shrill gasp cut him off.

“Oh my god, Killian,” Emma squeaked, pulling her hands from his as if she had been burned.  “Are you breaking up with me?”

“What?” Killian shrieked back.  “Absolutely not!”  He snatched her hands back into his and gave her a roll of his eyes.  “Why would you say that?”

“I’m sorry,” Emma swallowed, composing herself.  “This sounds like a serious talk, which normally means one of two things,” she began to breathe hard, sucking in each breath deeply as her heart sped up in her chest.  She grinned excitedly.  “And I am very emotional right now.”

“Noted,” Killian laughed as he tried to stop the shaking in his hands.  Emma gave his fingers a reassuring squeeze and he exhaled hard.  The hairs on the back of his neck had prickled to life and Killian could feel the telltale beginnings of heat in his armpits.  “Emma Swan…”

“Oh my god, Killian,” Emma gasped again, snatching her hand away and covering her mouth.

“Swan, will you just let me finish!” Killian pleaded lightly, giving her arm a tug.  They were both evidently excited so it would suit them both to get the words in his heart out of his mouth as soon as possible.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Emma shook her head from side to side, her perfectly styled curls bouncing over her bare shoulders.  She cleared her throat and bobbed on the balls of her feet, fanning her eyes that threatening to burst their dams at any second and smudge her eyeliner.  “I’m sorry, go on.”

“Emma Swan,” Killian began and eyed her sternly when she let out a squeak deep in the back of her throat.  “Tonight, at the Gala, I had a surprise planned.  It was big, extravagant and you would have probably hated me for doing it,” he chuckled, looking down at his feet for courage.

“Probably,” Emma agreed with a wide, happy smile and a shrug of her shoulders.

“I had a speech prepared, telling you all of the ways that I love you and would promise to love you more and more each day,” Killian paused, his tongue darting out to lick at his lips anxiously.

“Of course you did,” Emma beamed at Killian’s romanticism and unable to stop herself, she reached out and planted her hand against the shaped scruff of his cheek.  His stubble felt bristly under her palm and she gently stroked her fingertips down the side of his cheek.

“You are killing me here, love,” Killian grabbed her hand and held it to his face with a quaking hand.

“It’s fun to watch you squirm,” Emma giggled and Killian relaxed a little when he looked into the emerald sparkle of her eyes and realised she was always going to answer his question with the response he had hoped she would.

“And that is why I do love you, Emma,” Killian smiled up at her, holding her hand to his face.  “We understand each other completely.  We know exactly what the other is thinking at all times, and we are so connected, our hearts beat as though they are one,” he quickly looked down at their other hands between them and lifted hers to his chest, flattening her palm over his racing heart.  Emma flexed her fingers against the silky texture of his tuxedo lapel, her own heart quicking to match the pace of Killian’s.

“I never want to know how it feels to be without you, and I would despair if we were parted.”  Killian looked up at her once more, the swell of tears pooling along her eyelids and threatening to fall at any second matching his own watery vision.  “And if we ever were, I would always find you.  I would search every single plane of existence and time if I had to.”  He swallowed hard and let her hand go, slipping it into his jacket pocket and pulling the small, velveteen box out between them.  Emma’s gasp made him smile and Killian pulled the hinged lid open with a creak.

“Killian, this had better not be a joke,” Emma stifled a nervous laugh as she eyed the gorgeously crafted sapphire set in the middle of a ring of diamonds.  With a smile, he shook his head.

“I do not need a room full of people around me, nor do I need to your brother and sister-in-law’s words of encouragement to tell you how I feel about you each and every day.”  Killian sank down onto one knee and steadied himself, clutching the box between his fingers and looked up at Emma as if he was seeing a real life angel for the first time.  “I love you, Emma Swan.  I have loved you from the very first time I ever laid eyes on you and I want to love you for the rest of our lives.”

“I suppose I can live with that,” Emma smirked, the shock still evident in her voice that this was actually happening.

“I cannot imagine how difficult that decision is for you,” Killian teased her, pulling the ring from the box and letting the stone glint in the hallway lighting.  He snapped the box closed and set it on the floor beside his knee, holding out the white gold band and encouraging Emma to hold out her finger.

“Emma Swan, I want to marry you.  I want the honour of calling you my wife.  I want to give you everything I have for as many days as I have left on this earth, and nothing you can say will ever make me feel any different.”

“I’m pregnant,” Emma blurted out suddenly as Killian slipped the cold, white gold band over her straightening finger.

Killian smirked.  The ring fitted perfectly, thanks to Mary Margaret’s ninja like stealth skills, and with a grunt, he pushed himself to his feet and cupped her rosy flushed cheeks between his hands.  “Is that a yes?”

Emma nodded, the tears tumbling down over her cheeks and soaking Killian’s hands.  He pulled her face to his in an instant, their lips meeting so softly he thought he might have been imagining the whole scenario.  Any second now he would wake up and they would be at the Nolan Charity Gala, the crowds cheering as David auctioned himself off to one lucky lady for a good cause.  When Emma pushed harder against his lips, Killian realised he was not imagining things and kissed her back, his hands carding through her golden hair that smelled like coconut and sunshine and his lips parting to invite her tongue in.

“We have to… the… Gala…” Emma panted, her lips sliding from his as he moved to plant a line of fiery kisses down her neckline and across her exposed collarbone.  Her hands gripped at the back of his head and held his face to her skin, the actions of her body betraying her words.

“Next year,” Killian growled, his hands finding the back of her dress and pulling down the tiny, steel grey zip.  He had missed Emma’s body so much that he wasn’t going to waste another minute without touching her.

“But…David…” Emma moaned, almost as annoyed as Killian that she was even considering her brother at a moment like this.  Killian let her dress fall to the floor with a hefty thud and stepped towards her, encouraging Emma to walk backwards out of the pool of chiffon at her feet and back towards the bedroom doorway.

Killian shrugged his jacket over his shoulders, ignoring the fine tailoring and expensive material as he tossed it aside, letting it fall to a heap in the hall.  He tore at his buttons, pulling open the sides of his shirt and exposing the thick thatch of dark chest hair that covered his upper body.  Emma raked her eyes over his torso, squealing when her back hit the door and Killian lifted his face to hers once more.

“I’m sure your brother had no interest in what is about to occur,” he grinned boyishly.

Emma licked her lips salaciously and arched her back off of the door a little, reaching behind her with one hand push down the handle and toying with Killian’s necklace with the other.  “Ask me again,” she purred, giving him a seductive smile.

Killian smirked and leaned forward, nuzzling his nose into the sensitive patch of skin behind Emma’s ear, sliding his nose against her skin so lightly he was almost not touching it.  Emma shivered. “Emma Swan, will you marry me?” he rasped into her ear so low he thought he might combust from the sound that she made afterward.

Emma gave the door a final push open and stepped back, semi naked and still clutching the charm around his neck in her palm.  “Just try and stop me,” she purred, pulled him to her by his chain once more and slammed the door closed behind them.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it guys! The last installment of Between Now and Nether! Thank you all for sticking with this story, and all of your kind, kind comments as i have developed the story. I know some of you have been frustrated, emotional, and i hope this concludes the story in a way you feel the characters deserve. I know i do <3 Until the next adventure!

 

There was a time, when he had felt the warmth leave his body and had been trapped in the Nether, that Killian Jones had feared he might never see the moment Emma Swan had made him the happiest man in the world.  When she had agreed to marry him, none the wiser for his recent week long absence and struggle to get back to her, he was overcome with tears of joy that had burned lines so deep into his face that he thought he might still feel them.

Emma had looked beautiful.  Her dress, tailored by the famous seamstress Belle French, was a marvel, elegant enough to be refined by itself and not take a single glimpse of the bride’s beauty away from the awe inspired crowd.  The gathering was small, with just them, the Nolan’s and some other close family friends, and Killian will never forget the look of surprise on Graham Humbert’s face when he asked him to be his best man.  With a puzzled expression but a smile of pride Graham had accepted, none the wiser why Killian had even asked him.

How could he have not?  If it hadn’t been for him, Killian might never have made it back to his family and for that, he would be forever, albeit secretively, grateful.

“Don’t worry,” Graham laughed, watching Killian pace the hospital hallway.  The thick tread of his work boots squeaked against the polished tiled floor as he paced, his hand brushing some wayward strands of hair from his forehead.

“They said it would be soon,” Killian huffed, feeling himself halt when Graham laid his hand on his shoulder.

“These things take time,” Graham smiled, offering his friend a reassuring nod.

Killian's hands shook as he patted Graham’s with his own, mirroring his small, tight lipped smile with his weaker one.  Graham has been more of a friend than Killian could have ever imagined since the academy days.  Once Emma had taken her maternity leave, the rookie had been assigned to his charge, Graham’s gusto and resilience in the face of the Gold case not going unnoticed by the commissioner.

He trusted him with his life as a colleague, partner and more importantly a friend.  It meant a lot that he was the voice of reason right now as Kilian was slowly wearing a track into the floor of the off white, fluorescently lit corridor.  It had been his makeshift home for the last six hours, the steady buzz of overhead lighting and the mechanical beep of machines his only company when after thirty six hours of active labor, Emma had passed out and been rushed to surgery.

“It won’t be long, I promise,” Graham offered again.  Killian let his weight fall back against the wall, the paintwork scuffed across the white at waist height from the inevitable collision with hospital equipment.  

“It’s been over three hours since our last update,” Killian barked angrily.

“She’s strong,” Graham said firmly, his own voice quivering a little in his throat.

“She’s the strongest person we know,” Killian mumbled sadly, sliding down the wall until he was crumbled on the floor, head hanging between his knees.  Killian felt Graham’s hand on the back of his head but he did not look up.

“Mr. Jones?”  A small voice called from the nearby room he had recently been evicted from.  The woman was small and much older than him and he instantly recognised her as Emma’s midwife.

“Emma?” He scrambled to his feet, clawing at Graham’s arms as he pulled his friend up to his feet.

“Emma is fine,” The midwife smiled sweetly, stepping from the room and closing the door softly behind her.  Killian brushed his palms over his rumpled shirt, the clamminess seemingly stuck to his skin with the rush of adrenaline hearing the words had caused.  Emma, his Emma, was fine.

“And the baby?” Graham interjected from behind Killian who gulped hard, looking between the two of them and finally resting his expectant gaze on the midwife.  She paused, an eternal beat of time that Killian wished he could have sped up just like in the Om.

“A beautiful baby girl,” she grinned widely.  “Healthy and perfect in every way.”

Killian almost jumped into Graham’s arms when the man spun him around and pulled him into a crushing hug.  Hours of fatigue finally caught up with him and his defenses crumbled, the hot sting of tears pricking at the corner of Killian’s eyes and blurring his vision.  He buried his face into Graham’s shoulder, soaking his shirt with tears as two manly thumps of congratulations echoed through his back and chest.

“I told you,” Graham smirked with relief.  Killian pulled away from him and looked at his feet whilst he wiped at his tears, running his hand down his face and letting his stubble, that was edging on a full beard, absorb the salty droplets.

“Strongest person we know,” Killian smiled exuberantly and shook the hand Graham offered him.

Graham raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching sideways into a smirk.  “You haven’t met your daughter yet,” he reminded Killian.

As if a sudden realisation had hit him, Killian turned back to the midwife, his heart pounding in his chest and his face turning white.  He had known about his daughter for far longer than anyone else, but now he was suddenly terrified of the very notion of seeing her for the first time.  Since the wedding, which had happened so quickly after his return from the Nether, Killian had devoted so much of his time to make sure that Emma and the baby had everything they could ever need.  Emma was constantly telling him to stop fussing, but Killian had not, insisting on the very best for them.

Before Emma was too pregnant, they had decorated the nursery.  A splash of blue colour on the wall opposite the window turned purple in the sunlight as it spilled through the sheer, pink drapes they had hung.  The dark wood of the furniture contrasted with the plush, white carpet and was accented perfectly with the soft, pink linen that was tucked into the crib.  They had decided that since she would most likely be their little princess, that she should be treated like one, so Mary Margaret, who as it turned out was a great artist, had painted a fairytale castle and part of an enchanted forest on one of the walls.  David had insisted on as many  _Disney_  toys as possible, filling the nursery with a huge  _Dumbo_  plush, a smaller  _Sven_  (because she WOULD like  _Frozen_ ) and a tiny mini set of plushies from  _Snow White and the Seven Dwarves._

“Would you like to meet her?”  The midwife again shook Killian from his reverie and Graham nudged him in the back.  “And I know Emma would love to see you.”

Killian nodded and when the midwife pushed the door open, he stepped through it almost silently.  There was a soft yellow glow of light over Emma’s bed and she was sitting up with her arms crossed over her chest, the blankets tucked around her legs and a smile on her face.  She looked exhausted, her alabaster face a stark contrast to the pink of her cheeks and the green of her eyes as she gazed upon their daughter in her arms.

“Hey, love,” Killian whispered as he stepped closer and his hand crept up to scratch behind his ear.

Emma looked up at him with the love only a parent can hold for their child plastered on her face, lighting up her eyes to an even more vibrant shade of emerald than before.  She couldn’t hold back the tears as they fell, rolling over the apple of her cheeks silently and falling from her chin to the blanket below as she held out her hand for him.

They had no need for words as Killian gripped her fingers in his, letting her pull him towards her and immediately planting his lips to her brow.  His other hand smoothed over the back of her head, holding it to his lips as he inhaled the medical scent of hospital from her hair and fought with the shake of his lips against her skin.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Killian sobbed, his emotional state already well and truly compromised before he had even laid eyes of his daughter.  “Both of you.”  Emma nudged her head harder against his face, loving the way his fingers tickled behind her ear and his lips ghosted over her temple.

“No chance,” Emma laughed, her voice watery in the back of her throat.  She looked down at the tiny bundle in her arms and smiled harder.  “We are not going anywhere.”  Emma pulled her hand from Killian’s so that she could touch the tiny fingers of their daughter, the skin to skin contact something she had found so addictive already she thought she might never let her go.

“Oh, Emma, she’s so beautiful,” Killian grinned but was instantly taken by surprise when the boom of his voice made the tiny tot twitch in Emma’s arms.  “She has your nose,” he whispered softly, cupping the pink baby bonnet covered head of his daughter in his gigantic palm.

“She has your ears,” Emma purred sweetly, tracing the outline of the baby’s elvish ears with the tip of her finger.  The little girl scrunched up her face and balled her fist, grabbing the edge of the hospital issue blanket she was wrapped in before letting out a small, content sigh.

“Sorry about that, poppet,” Killian murmured at his daughter as he leaned over and pressed his lips to her forehead.  She was so small Killian thought he might break her, his hands shaking as he brushed his lips over her soft, warm scalp.  “Daddy’s sorry.”

Emma caught his attention as he pulled away from the babe, clutching the side of his scruffy cheek and pulling his face to her mouth.  She pressed her lips to his cheek, tiny prickles of stubble poking her lips and making them itch across her smile as she hummed against Killian’s face.  “I like the sound of that.”

“Daddy?” Killian raised an eyebrow at her.

“It suits you,” Emma smiled at him, scooting sideways on the bed and inviting him to perch beside her with a pat on the starchy hospital blanket.

“Now it does, but what am I going to do when she is sixteen and hates me?  I’m sure she will have a more colourful moniker for me then,” Killian laughed nervously, gazing back at his sleeping daughter.  “She’s so perfect like this.  Can’t she just stay this small and call me Daddy forever?”  Killian reached out and touched the softness of the baby’s cheek, feeling his worries fade away when the side of her mouth curved up into a reflexive smile.

“I think she’ll always call you Daddy,” Emma told him softly, watching their daughter yawn in her arms.

“And what do we call this little mite?” Killian cooed at the baby.  “We should give you a name, shouldn’t we?”

Emma pulled the baby closer to her chest when she started to wriggle in her arms, feeling the warmth of the tot through the material of the blanket she was wrapped in.  “Something meaningful,” Emma beamed proudly.  “Something that speaks volumes about who she is and what she means to us.”

Killian lifted his leg and finally perched on the edge of the bed, wrapping a big, strong arm around both Emma and the baby.  His fingers traced lazy circles under the sleeve of Emma’s gown and goose bumps sprang up from her skin, begging for more of his touch.  Emma was right, and she didn’t even know it.  Killian was the only one with memories of his time in the Nether, even though things had adjusted somewhat in their favour since his return.  Leroy was in prison and the threat from Gold was non-existent now that he was on his way to a supermax somewhere in the deserts of New Mexico.

The whole time he was away, Killian knew there was only one thing he knew, he needed to have, more than anything.  One thing that he needed to make sure Emma felt, and continued to feel so that he could return home to them both.  Without it, they would have drifted apart, Killian stuck without his family, and Emma in a forever state of sorrow.  Hope is what kept them strong and what held them together.

“Hope,” Killian whispered lovingly, resting the side of his head of Emma’s.  “Hope Jones.”

 

The second they were home with their brand new bundle of joy, Emma and Killian were invaded by the Nolans.  David and Mary Margaret had children of their own, but it seemed that when somebody else had one, Mary Margaret was set into an instant state of brooding that gave David a worried look on his face.  Killian couldn’t help but chuckle as David had held Hope in his arms, the smile of pride quickly turning into one of panic the second Mary Margaret had mentioned another.

Emma was feeling a little better.  Sore, but better.  She had spent an extra week inside of the hospital because of some slight complications following her surgery, but the doctors were now confident she would be okay at home.  It probably had something to do with the incessant way Killian fussed over her whilst she was in the ward, but he didn’t care if they thought he was overbearing in the slightest.  If they had any idea what he had gone through to get back to them both, they might have understood.

Even Captain Lucas had visited them both, bringing with her a little stuffed wolf cub toy for Hope and a fruit basket from the entire precinct for Emma.  There was something about work that always lit up Emma’s face, and she was excited to see all of her colleagues, especially Graham who she had wanted to thank for being there with Killian at the hospital for so long.  Things had returned to how they used to be, all three of them spending more time together socially and getting on without the animosity there once was.  Killian felt like Emma had her old friend back, he had made a new one with someone he had no idea had so much in common with himself, and he was an invaluable crutch during the end of Emma’s pregnancy.

As he waved goodbye to another set of visitors and pushed the front door closed with a soft click, Killian breathed a hefty sigh.  If having a child wasn’t tiring enough, constantly catering to the whim of guest after guest would be the end of him.  Or so he thought, until he ascended the stairs on muffled footsteps, entered the nursery and saw the love of his life gently swaying with his daughter in her arms.

“Alright, love?” He called softly as he entered the recently decorated room.  The faintest smell of paint lingered in the air, but it would soon fade and be replaced by the sweetness of baby products.  “You look tired.”

“I’m exhausted,” Emma laughed a little, offering him Hope as a tiny, swaddled bundle of fleshy softness.  The tot was wrapped tightly in the hospital blankets she came home in (Mary Margaret had sworn by its swaddling ability) with a pink cotton cap covering her delicate head.  She was soundly asleep and didn’t even move as they transferred her between them.

“I still cannot believe we have a child,” Killian smiled, looking down at Hope in awe.

“She’s amazing, isn’t she?” Emma fawned, watching her husband gently rock the baby in his powerful arms.  Sliding her phone out of her back pocket, Emma swiped the camera open and let the lens focus on the scene before her.  It was magical and maybe it was the hormones, but her eyes welled up with fat tears of pride as Emma clicked the button on the side of her phone, and the shutter sound signaled she had taken a photograph.

“She’s perfect,” Killian said softly, looking away from the babe for a second when Emma prompted him for a photo.  “Our little poppet.”

 

Having a baby was nothing like Killian had imagined.  The books could only prepare you for so much, and they most certainly did not take stock of the number of time you would wake up each night and deprived of sleep, inadvertently stick your finger into the side of a soiled diaper, or how utterly removed from society you would feel.  If Killian was honest with himself, having a baby was very similar to being in the Om;  Time moved so quickly it was gone before you even realised you had it to spare, and there was a constant urgency associated with being apart from Hope for too long.  

Killian felt like he needed to be close to her at all times, not miss a single second, and sometimes even that was not enough.  He wanted to watch her breathe, focus his entire energy on making sure that the tiny thumping of her heartbeat was normal and just as perfect as he had imagined.  Which was why, at three-thirty in the morning every night since she had come home, he had crept into her nursery in anticipation of the inevitable wails that followed, just so he could hold her and let Emma sleep uninterrupted.

“There, there, poppet,” Killian cooed almost silently.  He padded into the nursery barefoot, his pajama pants hanging low on his hips and his bare chest that was covered in a layer of almost black hairs on full display.  He kept the lights off except for a nearby plug in bulb that emitted a soft, pink hued glow around the nursery that was never too bright but just enough to chase away the shadows.

Reaching the dark wood of the crib that he and  David had painstakingly erected mere weeks before Hope’s arrival, Killian leaned over to rest his flattened palm to his daughter's chest.  The tiny beat of her super fast heart pounded against his fingertips and as if by magic, she ceased her fussing and sighed heavily, the screwed up expression she always wore before crying disappearing instantly.  Killian let his hand rest there for a full minute, just taking in the tiny creation before him.

Emma had been right.  Hope had his ears, a smaller, pinker variation, but still undoubtedly curved at the bottom and tapering into an Elfish point.  Along the outside of the shell was a fine dusting of black hair, something that the midwife had assured them she would grow out of, but Killian found endearing and unable to resist, often stroking them softly as she slept or nursed.  

Hope’s hair was as black as night against the paleness of her skin, her tiny transparent eyelids hiding the ocean blue-green eyes that were the perfect mixture of both of her parents.  They had been told they might change, but Killian felt confident that even with his dark hair, Hope had inherited everything else about her mother and her eyes would be just as beautiful as Emma’s and retain their emerald glow.  She had a flush to her chubby cheeks, another of Emma’s traits, and a button nose that squeaked and snuffled with her quickened breathing.  Even in the faint, cherise colouring that cast itself all around her, Hope was a vision of light, everything Killian had imagined she would be and more.  She was perfect.

Killian leaned over the crib and scooped his hand under her soft skull, letting her head flop back into his palm like a warm pillow.  At first, he had been worried about holding her, scared that he would somehow injure her with his strength, but he was starting to realise that babies were more robust than he had imagined and with his second hand under her diaper clad behind, Killian lifted her from the crib.

With a tiny whimper, Hope shifted in his hands.  Just like her mother, she hated to be disturbed a moment sooner than she needed to be, and it made Killian smile at the thought.  “Come now, my little poppet,” Killian soothed gently, holding her against his chest and slowly swaying a little from side to side.  “There’s no need for that now.”  Hope stiffened only slightly as Killian moved to a nearby rocking chair that faced out of the window, the square, padded cushion on the seat pink to match the rest of Hope’s room.  

When he sat down, lowering himself so slowly the muscles in his legs tensed to hold him up, Hope relaxed against his chest, her face turned sideways with the steady beat of his heart under her ear like the rhythmic beat of a lullaby.  Killian folded his arm over his chest, pining Hope’s tiny legs to his chest and supported her back with his other hand.  Hope settled instantly, pinching a bunch of his chest hair in her fingers.

“That’s better isn’t it, my love,” Killian whispered.  “Daddy’s got you.”

Hope let out a tiny wail, the sound catching in the back of her throat as she shifted her face against the coarse hair on Killian’s chest.  Killian began to hum a lullaby his mother used to sing to him when he was a young boy, the words long forgotten but the melody as clear as day in his mind.  He remembered it was an old sea shanty that his grandfather used to sing to her, the calming tune like the song of a siren to children.  With a squeak Hope relaxed again, Killian’s hand moving slowly over the curve of her back and his chest vibrating with a low hum that seemed to calm her agitation.  She would be due a feeding  soon, but until absolutely necessary, Killian would leave Emma as long as he could.

“I know you will not remember this,” he began, inhaling the sweet scent of her in his arms.  She smelled of baby powder and soap and Killian knew that once she aged a little he would miss it instantly.  “But Daddy fought very hard to come home to you.”  Hope let out another small squeal, her tongue clicking the roof of her mouth as she tried to suck an invisible teat.  “Yes, I did,” Killian cooed as if he was answering a question she had posed and before he knew it a single tiny tear of happiness had rolled from his eyelid.  “You made it so that your mother and I could talk between planes of existence, and even though you will never know what that means, you will always be the thing that gave me the tenacity to fight my way home.”  

The tot wailed louder in Killian’s arms and he clutched her to his chest as he stood to his feet.  “You are my light, poppet.  You guided me through the darkness and back to the two people that I love most in this world.”  Killian padded silently out of the room and down the hall towards their bedroom.  Pausing outside of the door, he shifted Hope in his arms until she was laying on her back in the crook of his elbow, her legs instinctively lifting towards her chest and her arms stiffening, outstretched for the comforting curve of her mother’s breasts that meant food.  

Killian wouldn’t mind the crying.  He wouldn’t mind the sleepless nights and he wouldn’t mind the inevitable troubled teens that were sure to follow with a child who was the product of two parents who would fight, with everything they had, for what they loved and believed in.  With a final, loving smile, Killian leaned forward and pressed his lips to Hope’s forehead. “You will never realise why I love you so dearly but it is because you gave me something, in name and in spirit, that kept me going.  You gave me hope.”


End file.
